


Frailty

by AlElizabeth



Series: Frailty [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Season 7, Episodes 10-11. Sam and Dean are crushed after the loss of Bobby and decide to go to Rufus' cabin to gather their bearings. Thinking that they will be able to grieve in peace, they are sorely mistaken when Sam begins to hallucinate again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All That's Left

Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead. He didn't look at Sam, he didn't dare. Dean's jaw was clenched so tight he thought he might break his teeth.

They had been driving for two days now and the brothers hadn't spoken to one another. Dean didn't even have to look at Sam to see the hunched shoulders, the devastated expression on his face, the fact that he swiped at his nose every so often, or the dark circles around his eyes.

All Dean wanted to do was get to Montana, hole-up in the safety of Rufus' cabin in Whitefish and just… stop… thinking.

Dean heard the soft crinkle of paper and knew Sam was looking at that damn number again. For posterity's sake, somehow his brother remembered to rewrite the number down on a scrap of paper… the number Bobby had enough time to scrawl on Sam's hand before… before he had died.

Dean gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, feeling the joints pop as he recalled the last few moments of Bobby's life.

Dean remembered how the doctor and nurses had pushed him and Sam aside as they attempted to resuscitate Bobby, over and over again. Dean and his brother had stood just inside the room, watching the scene unfold helplessly. What must have been only minutes seemed like hours to Dean as the hospital staff tried unsuccessfully to revive the old hunter.

Dean remembered how the doctor had stepped back and shook his head.

"Do you want to call it?" a nurse had asked the doctor.

"Wait! What are you doing? Try again!" Dean had jumped into the conversation and grabbed the doctor by the lapels of his white coat.

"Son, there's nothing more we can do for him," the doctor had said in a calm, measured voice, "I'm sorry."

"You know what? Fuck you!" Dean had snapped at the doctor and shoved the man away from him.

"Dean," he had heard his brother say his name but he walked right past him, out of the room and down the hall.

Dean had gone into the men's washroom and locked himself in one of the stalls, trying to get himself together. His chest had heaved with barely contained anger and he slammed his fist against the painted cinderblock wall. Dean had wanted to kick something, someone, he wanted to curl into a ball, he wanted to scream and never stop.

Dean had leaned his forehead against the laminate-covered plywood door of the stall and took deep breaths. He had left the stall after several minutes and went to one of the sinks, turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.

Once he gauged he was calm enough, Dean had exited the washroom and gone back to Bobby's room.

He had seen Sam standing in the hall, speaking quietly to a young woman wearing a tasteful beige pant suit, her dirty blonde hair in a severe bun.

As Dean approached he heard some of the conversation.

"I know this must be very difficult for you, but a decision needs to be made immediately," the woman was saying. Apparently the hospital thought that a woman would have a better chance at getting to them.

Dean had seen Sam nod sadly and the woman handed him a pen.

"Hey! What're you doing?" Dean interrupted before Sam could sign the form the woman held out to him on a clipboard.

Sam had looked up and Dean saw he had a hopeful expression on his face.

"Dean… Bobby's a donor… and… maybe… some good can come out of all of this…" Sam had tried to explain.

"Good? Good! How is any of this good, Sam? The man's not been dead a half hour and you're already pawning off his organs to the highest bidder?" Dean had almost shouted as he approached his brother and the hospital representative.

"Dean, lives could be saved-" Sam had tried to speak again but Dean interjected rudely.

"No, no way," Dean had said, "there is no way I'm gonna let them cut Bobby up and give his liver or whatever to some asshole."

"Sir-" the woman had tried to speak and Dean rounded on her.

"Was I talking to you? I didn't think so. Get the hell away from us and take your fucking form with you!" Dean had shouted at the woman, "goddamn vulture!"

The woman hugged the clipboard to her chest and practically sprinted down the hall in fear.

"Dean," Sam had said quietly but he didn't answer. He was angry with his brother. He couldn't believe Sam's audacity. Bobby was a hunter and should be buried like a hunter. The thought of desecrating his body by removing organs seemed sacrilegious and dishonorable. That was not the way to treat the earthly remains of a fellow hunter, their friend and adoptive father.

W

Now Dean resisted the urge to grab the paper from Sam's hand and throw it out the window.

He could have cared less about the numbers that Bobby had written, for all they knew it was just the dying ramblings of their last ally, and meant absolutely nothing.

Dean's anger at Sam had died down to a simmer once he had time to think things over. He still didn't have to like the idea that Sam had almost signed the lady's form but Dean didn't want to stay mad at his brother, now his only friend.

Dean didn't speak to Sam though. He just didn't know what to say. He was afraid of his words coming out wrong and making things even worse than they already were.

Dean listened as Sam folded the paper with a sigh and put it back into his pocket.

It was getting dark and Dean thought they should find a motel for the night. They were nearly in Montana but their destination was closer to the western side of the state which would probably be another fourteen hour's drive.

Without saying anything to his brother, Dean pulled off the interstate and into the next town they came across.

Dean didn't even notice how small the town of Bison was as he searched the streets for a motel. He didn't really care where they stayed as long as it was quiet.

He pulled into the parking lot of a 'Country Inn' motel and let the car idle while he checked in.

The lobby of the motel was small but meticulously clean. It had a southwestern theme with Navajo rugs, cream-coloured tiles on the floor, and the heads of pronghorn antelope on walls painted terra cotta orange. No one was at the reception desk so Dean rang the little silver bell, its chime cut through the silent lobby.

"Hello," a voice behind the desk spoke up and a short, middle-aged woman strolled over.

"Hi, I'd like a room," Dean said and the woman smiled.

"You're in luck, we've got one left," she replied.

"Great," Dean answered without enthusiasm.

"Sir?" the woman asked. Dean hadn't even noticed his gaze had gone to the pronghorn antelope head staring down at him with glass eyes.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Dean muttered and pulled his new fake ID, courtesy of Frank Devereaux, and handed it to the woman.

She took a couple of minutes to type the information into the computer than returned his card with a room key, "There you go Mr. Smith. Enjoy your stay."

Dean gave a halfhearted shrug and left the lobby.

He got into the car and realized he hadn't even asked if the room came with one bed or two.

Oh well, I'll sleep on the floor if I have to, Dean thought as he pulled the car around to the far end of the motel and parked in front of the room.

Both boys got out of the car and grabbed their duffel bags from the trunk. Dean unlocked the door and they peered inside.

Dean frowned. There was only one bed.

Sam noticed and offered to sleep on the floor.

"Nah, you take the bed," Dean argued, "it's not like I haven't slept on the ground before."

Sam didn't want to start an argument and so he consented and set his bag down on the bed. He was a little surprised that Dean didn't actually put up a fight as to which one of them would be sleeping in the bed, something his brother always did whenever they were faced with such an event.

The room continued the southwest theme and the floor was covered in brown carpeting, the walls a cream colour that had been sponged over with darker terra cotta red (to give the guest the feeling that they were in an adobe hut, Dean assumed), the bedclothes had Navajo rug designs and a taxidermy bison head stared out at them from over the single bed.

Dean bit his lower lip and turned away from his brother to peer out the window. He knew they should start talking again. Normally Sam would be the one to initiate a conversation, especially after an argument but he probably thought Dean was still pissed at him.

They needed to talk, they were the only ones left, they only had each other and Dean knew they could not continue with the silence for much longer.

"You hungry?" Dean spoke up, "there's a place called the Prairie Dog Café across the street that might be good."

Dean didn't even really have that much of an appetite but he knew that if he went in search of food, Sam would follow and he wanted to make sure that his brother ate something.

Dean turned to face Sam and his brother shrugged, "if you're going."

Dean grabbed the room key and Sam trailed behind him as he exited the room, locking the door behind both of them.

They jaywalked across the street and Dean opened the door of the café. A bell chimed as the Winchesters stepped inside and looked around.

The place was pretty normal looking, the floors were scuffed hardwood that had seen better days, and there were dark wooden booths and tables covered in green plastic cloths. What stood out about the café was that it was packed. Almost all of the tables and booths were occupied.

Dean raised an eyebrow. I guess this is where the locals eat.

The boys stood awkwardly for a moment, waiting to be seated.

"Hi, welcome to the Prairie Dog Café," a petite hostess with straight brown hair and large brown eyes said.

Dean cleared his throat, "hi, two please."

The hostess nodded and led them to a booth at the far end of the restaurant.

The brothers sat across from each other and the hostess handed them menus before walking away.

Sam looked out the large window they were sitting beside, his expression distracted.

Dean opened his menu and looked at the list of food items he wasn't interested in at all.

A waitress came by- a large girl whose nametag read 'Charity'- and poured them glasses of water.

"Is there anything I can get you right now?" Charity asked, eyeing both boys curiously.

"Two beers," Dean spoke up, wondering if maybe Sam had suddenly lost the ability to speak.

"Great, I'll be right back," Charity smiled and waddled away.

Dean leaned his forearms on the table and looked intently at his brother.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah," Sam all but sighed his response.

"Look, if this is about the donor thing… I'm not angry at you," Dean said.

"I know you're not," Sam answered.

"Then what?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't bother to answer because Dean already knew what the answer was: he was grieving in his own way. While Dean got angry, Sam would go distant and often feel guilty.

"Other than that… how are you feeling?" Dean asked.

Sam just shrugged and stared out the window again.

Charity returned with the beer but since they were not ready to order, she left once again.

Sam watched as his brother perused the items on the menu with less conviction than he usually would have.

Sam didn't even want to think about food but he knew he needed to eat… he could not neglect that.

With his hands on his lap and his eyes scanning the laminated pages of the menu, Sam's right hand drifted to the left, his thumb pressing down on the new scar on his palm. A headache throbbed behind his eyes but he hadn't pointed it out to his brother, forcing himself to not pinch the bridge of his nose or squeeze his eyes shut because than Dean would see. Sam grabbed his bottle of beer and gulped down some of the cold liquid.

When Dean wasn't looking Sam surreptitiously rubbed at his left palm and sagged inwardly with relief.

"Ready to order?" Charity's voice caused both Winchesters to jump in surprise.

"Uh, can you give us five more minutes?" Dean asked.

"Sure," Charity answered but looked slightly annoyed that they were taking so long to order.

Dean finally decided to get a pizza burger and fries. Maybe eating comfort food would make him feel better.

When Charity returned Dean ordered his burger and Sam ordered the Soup-of-the-Day and a turkey sandwich.

The boys ate in silence, not really tasting their dinner at all, thoughts a million miles away from tiny Bison, South Dakota.

Dean just wanted to go back to the motel and sleep. He was exhausted. He guessed the anger that had followed him from New Jersey had something to do with it.

He noticed Sam looked as tired as he felt, if not more. He didn't doubt that Sam was beating himself up about Bobby's death.

Heck, he felt guilty about it too. But mostly he felt rage. Dean wanted nothing more than to find that fucking Leviathan, Dick Roman, and rip his head off with his bare hands.

Dean knew he wouldn't go chasing that son of a bitch down though. Maybe two days ago, maybe if Bobby was sitting with them, but not now. Dean was done. He was finished. For good. Dean hadn't said anything to Sam but he had an idea that his brother would follow his lead. He knew Sam wouldn't want to continue hunting if he wasn't by his side. They had officially run out of friends and there were just too many enemies for Sam to go off on his own.

All Dean really cared about now was getting to Whitefish and falling off the grid altogether. Dean hoped he and Sam would be able to keep their newfound haven for as long as possible, if and when the Leviathans came for them.

Dean had been done with hunting a long time ago. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd decided he didn't want to keep going but he thought maybe it was when his Dad had died. Sam's plunge into Lucifer's Cage had certainly cemented Dean's decision to give up hunting for good- he didn't want to continue if his brother wasn't with him. Although Sam was with him now, they had no one else, literally. Now it seemed like a David and Goliath story where the giant simply squashes the poor, tiny Dave and goes on his merry way.

Dean knew that Bobby hadn't wanted them to give up if anything had happened to him but this was just one promise Dean didn't think he could keep.

I'm sorry Bobby, Dean thought, I just can't do it, ya know? This is just too big for the two of us.

Dean hoped that Bobby would forgive him and wondered if he could forgive himself.

W

Thirty minutes later Dean opened the door to their motel room and stepped inside.

Dean sighed and grabbed his duffel bag from where he had set it beside the bed and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door after himself.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed and turned on the ancient, box-shaped television. He picked up the remote and flipped through the channels, not intending to watch anything. He stopped on a re-run episode of Fear Factor and put it on mute.

Sam's head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he rubbed at his temples, wondering if he had any painkillers in his duffel bag.

Sam was tired and all he wanted to do was take a shower and get some rest. He had barely slept during the past two days- his mind didn't want to shut down when it should have- all Sam could do was go over the events leading up to Bobby's death over and over in his head and ponder the mystery of those numbers.

"Sammy, bathroom's free," Dean's voice startled Sam out of his thoughts and he stood, nodding his thanks.

Sam gathered his duffel bag and closed the door after himself. The bathroom was full of steam, humid from Dean's boiling shower. Sam got undressed and turned on the shower- an icy jet of water greeted his waiting hand- Dean had also used up all the hot water.

Nice. Whatever, wasn't gonna spend all night in here anyway, Sam thought and stepped under the cold torrent.

Dean looked up when Sam stepped out of the bathroom, dark hair damp and his bangs plastered to his forehead. Dean had to admit he had felt a lot better after his shower- something about standing in the warm rush of water had seemed to wash all his negative feelings away and he was looking more optimistic about things.

Sam dumped his duffel bag on the end of his bed and sat down with a tiny huff. Picking up on the sound, Dean looked at his brother expectantly.

It took Sam a moment to realize Dean was watching him and he turned his head, "what?"

"You…okay there?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I just want to get to Whitefish," Sam muttered and Dean nodded.

Dean stood and stretched, making his way to the bathroom once again.

As he passed Sam, Dean dropped a red and white bottle of Tylenol onto his brother's lap. Dean hid a grin. Kid thought he could keep me in the dark?

Just because Sam hadn't performed his usual mannerisms didn't mean Dean wasn't aware of the headache. Dean had seen the way Sam's eyes became dark and pinched- a telltale sign that his brother was in pain- and knew sooner or later Sam would be taking painkillers on the sly like they were illegal just so he wouldn't have to tell him about the headache.

W

Dean didn't sleep at all that night. Sam gave him one of the blankets and pillows from the bed so he could make himself at least somewhat comfortable. Dean felt tired, of course he did after driving all day, but his body wouldn't let him sleep.

He lay on his back, arms under his head, supported by the pillow and the scratchy wool blanket pulled up to his chest. Dean listened to the sound of his brother's breathing.

Dean listened as Sam's breathing slowed and evened out as he fell asleep and he smiled. At least one of us is getting the rest we need.

It was after midnight when Dean noticed a change in Sam's breathing. It became faster and shallow, punctuated by tiny whimpers of distress.

Dean sat up and looked at his sleeping brother. The room was dark but the numbers on the alarm clock illuminated Sam's face enough for Dean to see he was having a nightmare. Not an uncommon occurrence for Sam, Dean knew, but it put him on edge anyway.

Dean continued to watch his brother for a handful of minutes before lying back down. Sam's breathing was even again and though he gave the occasional mumble, Dean didn't worry too much about it.

Dean bit his lip and tried to fall asleep again.

He was actually in that twilight state between waking and sleeping when Dean heard his brother say his name.

Eyes snapping open Dean peered at Sam. When his name was no longer forthcoming, Dean repositioned himself and closed his eyes and tried to get as much sleep as possible before their 5 AM wake up call.


	2. Home

Dean turned up the music and began singing along even louder to Rush's 'Red Barchetta.'

Sam smiled wanly. He was glad Dean was feeling better. They had already been driving for several hours and there were only a few more away from Whitefish.

Dean looked at his brother and smiled back. Sam looked a little pale and exhausted but Dean was sure he'd get well again once they were at the cabin.

Poor guy needs a really long vacation, Dean thought, and continued to sing to the music.

Just get to the cabin, Dean. We can both relax once we're there.

"How's the headache, Sammy?" Dean asked in a conversational tone.

Sam answered somewhat sheepishly, "Gone… the Tylenol helped."

"That's good," Dean nodded. I knew it.

"How much farther?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean shrugged, "A couple of hours… no more than three I don't think."

"Okay," Sam answered and gazed out the passenger window. Dean looked over and noticed that his brother's left hand lay in his right, his thumb held above the scar on his palm.

Dean ignored the fact that he was starting to become worried about his brother.

He's okay, Dean thought, you know he is. All Sammy needs is some rest. He's still grieving… we both are.

Sammy's been doing so well… he's just stressed and tired. He'll bounce back, always does, Dean assured himself.

SPN

Ten minutes later Sam looked up when Dean pulled into the lot of a truck-stop/gas station.

"Gotta fill up," Dean explained.

Sam got out of the car and stretched his legs. Dean had said they were only a couple of hours away from Whitefish and Sam could hardly wait. Sam only wished that Bobby was with them.

Feeling the call of nature, Sam left Dean at the gas pumps and wandered into the tiny diner that catered to truck drivers.

A couple of burly truckers sat at the bar and one thin, frizzy-haired waitress glanced up at Sam as he entered.

The bathroom was, to put it mildly, disgusting. It was unnaturally warm and there was a pervasive smell of piss and shit. The floor was stained cement; the walls were scuffed, grimy tiles.

Sam looked over to the four rust-stained urinals along the one wall and decided to go into a stall instead.

Once finished Sam exited and washed his hands. Sam glanced at his reflection in the cracked, spotted mirror and saw that he looked tired; his eyes had dark shadows under them, his face was pale and his hair a little too long.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to take a break for a while. Sam smiled; he'd never had a vacation before. The closest thing Sam could think of was when he'd been at Stanford.

Sam sighed, dried his hands off on paper towel from the dispenser, turned-

"Hello Sam," Lucifer was leaning against the doorframe, blocking the only escape route.

"No! You're not real!" Sam's right thumb immediately began rubbing at the scar on his left hand.

Lucifer straightened and began walking calmly and slowly toward Sam.

"You stay away from me!" Sam exclaimed as he backed into the stall he had just left.

"Why would I want to do something like that?" Lucifer asked and continued toward Sam.

"Go away! You're not real, you're not real!" Sam exclaimed.

The Devil reached out a hand lazily. Sam stared up at Lucifer in terror.

"No, please! Don't touch me!" Sam cried out and shrunk away from his enemy.

SPN

Dean tapped the steering wheel in time with the music. Iron Maiden's 'Can I Play With Madness?' caused the old car to shake with the volume.

Dean had been waiting for almost ten minutes and he was getting anxious to leave.

C'mon Sam, where are you? Dean wondered and looked out the window impatiently.

He waited until the song ended then he turned down the music, got out of the car and locked it.

Dean stepped inside the diner and looked around- saw the patrons and a single waitress but not Sam- and walked up to the bar.

"Did you happen to see a guy come in here about fifteen minutes ago? Tall, dark brown hair?" Dean asked the waitress.

The waitress didn't even blink and made a vague hand gesture in the direction of the men's washroom.

Dean went and sat down at one of the tables, waited for a second and then stood up again and headed into the bathroom.

He stepped inside and his nose wrinkled a little at the hadn't-been-cleaned-in-months smell.

"Hey Sammy? You fall in or something?" Dean asked as he looked around.

There was no one there. Dean turned to leave when he heard a faint whimper.

"Sam?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Dean ducked down and peered underneath the stall doors. He came to the last stall, the one farthest away from the exit and pushed the door open.

Dean started when he saw his brother. Sam was crouched on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, hair obscuring his eyes.

Sam had somehow managed to wedge himself in between the toilet and the wall, his right thumb pressing against his left palm.

"Sam?" Dean crouched down in the small stall and reached out and touched the side of his brother's face in an attempt to get Sam to look at him.

Sam flinched away from Dean's hand and whimpered.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Dean comforted and gently forced Sam's head up. With his other hand, Dean brushed Sam's bangs off his face.

Sam's green eyes were dark, the pupils almost completely engulfing the iris. Dean saw fear there and pain.

"Ah, c'mon Sammy, it's okay, eh?" Dean said but his brother gave a strangled sob and curled away from him.

"Sam! Look at me!" Dean demanded and forced Sam to look at him again, hands gentle on either side of his brother's face.

"Whatever's going on in that freaky head of yours… whatever you're seeing, it's not real. Okay? It's not real. I'm real. It's me, Dean, okay? Really. You gotta remember," Dean said, almost begging.

Sam gave a shuddering sob, blinked and recognition flowed into his eyes.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother in a tight hug.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. It was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

"Think you can stand?" Dean asked.

"Y-Yeah," Sam stuttered and allowed Dean to grip him by the arms and lift him into a standing position- a difficult task in the small stall. Dean was forced to back out of the tiny stall in order for his tall brother to have room enough to straighten up.

Dean led his brother into the middle of the bathroom. Sam was obviously shaken and very pale.

"You with me now?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam answered and Dean patted his shoulder in reassurance.

Slowly the brothers exited the bathroom, Dean walking close to Sam, watching his every move.

Dean was relieved when they were both back in the car. He turned on the engine and turned down the music that blared out of the stereo.

Sam was extremely grateful that he was back with Dean. He felt much safer in the car- even if it wasn't the Impala- at least it was something familiar.

His left hand ached but Sam welcomed it. Lucifer was gone. Sam knew he was going to be alright. Dean had said so and Sam didn't doubt his brother's words.

W

Dean smiled as he pulled into the long dirt driveway that led to Rufus' cabin. He looked over at his brother, apparently sleeping in the passenger seat, head resting against the window.

"Hey, Sammy, we finally made it," Dean said happily and Sam woke and blinked a couple of times at the tree-lined road.

Sam gave a small smile. It felt strange to be at the cabin without Bobby.

Sam felt moisture gather in his eyes and he sighed.

Dean looked over at his brother and thought he must still be kind of out of it from his episode in the bathroom.

"S'okay Sam," Dean said and gripped his brother's shoulder with one hand.

The large wooden structure loomed before them and Dean felt a pang of sadness. Bobby should be with them. He should be grumbling away in the backseat about the long drive and Dean deciding to take the 'scenic route'.

Dean parked and got out of the car, stretching his arms above his head. Sam unfolded himself from his seat and watched his brother from over the car's roof.

"Feel like I could sleep for a month," Dean muttered and rubbed his face with his hands. He went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk, pulling his duffel bag out and headed toward the cabin.

Sam watched his brother walk up the cabin's wooden steps, pause before taking out the key and unlocking the door.

Sam remained where he was. All he could hear was the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees, the chirping of birds and the chattering of squirrels. No traffic, no shouts, no human sounds invaded the forest around the cabin.

"You gonna come inside or stand out there all day?" Dean called to his brother from the porch, a quizzical, slightly worried look on his face as he saw that Sam was just standing there with the car door open.

Sam closed the door, grabbed his bag from the trunk and headed toward the porch to meet Dean.

"Just enjoying how quiet it is out here," Sam confessed.

Dean snorted a laugh, "Okay, Nature Boy."

"Well, if we're gonna be out here for a while at least we know no one's gonna stumble upon us by accident," Sam said rationally.

Dean couldn't argue with that logic. That was what was great about this place- there had been no nosy neighbours to bug them- especially after they'd been recovering from the fight with the Leviathan in Bobby's junkyard. Not having people knocking on the door had been a nice touch.

They knew no one was likely to come out this far; it was miles into town and although that meant some driving, it was a small price to pay for privacy.

Dean set his duffel bag down and made his way to the kitchen, eager for a beer.

He pulled open the old fridge door and grabbed a bottle of beer, offered it to Sam who shook his head and kept it for himself.

Dean sat down at the kitchen table, backwards so he laid his forearms across the top of his chair.

Sam didn't sit, he put his own duffel bag down and followed his brother into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

"What are we going to do, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean sighed and gulped down some beer. His brow furrowed in thought and he scratched the back of his head nervously.

"We'll make the best of this," Dean said, not really answering the question.

Sam nodded, "What about money; we're going to run out eventually."

Dean shrugged, "I don't know… I'll get a job in town or something. Whitefish is a resort town isn't it? I'm sure there are lots of jobs."

Sam frowned. He didn't think it was a good idea for Dean to be going into town for anything other than supplies. The Leviathans were still out there and they could be anyone.

Dean couldn't help but smile inwardly. Sam was always the one thinking ahead, worrying about what was going to happen in the future when Dean preferred to live in the moment.

"We'll think of something, Sammy," Dean assured his younger brother and took a swig of beer.

Sam nodded but didn't answer.

Dean frowned. He was worried about his brother. He was worried about the stress of Bobby's murder getting to Sam. He was worried about having a repeat of that episode in that shitty truck-stop diner's bathroom.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Yeah, he'd been talking about Sam going crazy, losing his marbles but he really, really wanted to believe that Sam was fine. He had been so scared for his brother after he'd found him in that warehouse, hallucinating Lucifer and waving a gun around. Dean hadn't been sure if Sam was going to shoot him or turn the gun on himself. Dean hadn't been sure he'd be able to get through to Sam. But he had and for a long while Sam had seemed like he was going to be alright. Sure, Dean would catch Sam rubbing at the scar on his left palm when he thought he wasn't looking but there had not really been anything major- the odd nightmare- but no more hallucinations, at least, not until earlier that day.

Dean looked at his brother, taking in Sam's appearance carefully. He looked at Sam's facial expression- tired and stressed, his eyes dark with pain- his face kind of pale, hair a little longer than it usually was, slightly disheveled, in need of a wash. Sam's posture was a telltale sign that something was not right with him. His shoulders were hunched and Sam appeared to be trying to make himself as small as possible.

He just needs a good night's sleep in a real bed, Dean thought, choosing to believe Sam's distress was a result of grief and exhaustion.

Sammy's a big boy, Dean chastised himself for overreacting, and he can take care of himself. He probably doesn't want me worrying over him and babying him every minute.

To distract himself from his concern for his brother, Dean looked around the kitchen. Old plain wood cupboards and drawers, dusty wooden floors, ancient fridge and oven. No microwave. For a cabin Dean thought it was pretty rustic. At least there was a TV in the living room and running water.

From their first visit, Dean had the impression that Rufus had rarely used this cabin and when he'd asked Bobby about it the old hunter had informed him that his friend had had it before he became a hunter. The place had actually belonged to Rufus' father and he would often bring his young son out to Whitefish during the summer to fish and hunt conventional animals like deer and pheasants.

I guess this cabin is going to be home for a while, Dean mused, huh… home. The only places he had only thought of as home had once been Bobby's junkyard and, of course, the Impala.

"Sammy, why don't we watch some bad TV for a while? Take our minds off things?" Dean suggested and Sam pushed himself away from the counter to follow him to the living room.

Dean flopped down on the old couch and grabbed the remote for the elderly television.

Flicking the ON button, Dean surfed through the channels until he came to a soap opera, "All right, The Young and the Restless!"

Sam sat down in one of the chairs and appeared to be watching the show, though Dean couldn't be sure.

Dean became engrossed in the show, yelling at the characters every so often and gesturing with his hands.

It had been so long since they had stayed in one place for more than a few weeks, Sam thought, and now Dean was saying that they would remain at Rufus' cabin permanently or for as long as possible in any case.

Sam was glad Dean was with him. For as long as he could remember, any place where Dean was meant home for Sam. It could have been the most run-down, cockroach infested motel room but as long as Dean was there, Sam felt happy and safe. Sam had never told Dean these things, probably never would, but he hoped that Dean knew how he felt anyway.

Sam looked down at his hands sitting palm upward in his lap. He stared at the white scar that marred his left palm.

Dean had always been there for him. Sam knew it… but… what if something happened… what if Dean went away. Sure, his brother seemed content now, but Sam worried about Dean, worried about himself.

No, Sam thought, I can handle this. I know I can. What happened in the diner bathroom was not as bad as before.

Dean had brought him back.

Sam looked up at Dean who was grumbling at the TV. I have to do this for Dean. I can't fail him. I will get over this.

Dean glanced at his brother, saw the light of determination in his green eyes and wondered what he was thinking. Wishing that he was psychic and could read minds, Dean's expression turned soft and hoped that he was doing the right thing. He hoped that he was doing the right thing for his family. His brother. The one person who mattered most in his world, who had always mattered the most. Sam.


	3. Distant Early Warning

"Sam?" Dean looked around the cabin, panic rising in his chest.

"Sammy? Where are you?" He called through the silent building.

Dean tried to remain calm but memories of walking into Bobby's house to find Sam had disappeared and had ended up in some abandoned warehouse with the Devil, whom Sam had thought had been Dean himself, still haunted him.

Maybe he's having an episode like in the diner bathroom; Dean thought and stopped where he was to listen for any sound from Sam.

Dean didn't hear anything besides the birds and insects outside, their calls muffled by the glass windows and wooden walls of the cabin.

"Damn it Sam," Dean muttered and ran a hand through his short-cropped brown hair. His hazel eyes searched the area around him once more.

Dean peered out the front door. No Sam. Dean checked the room Sam had claimed as his own. Not there either. Dean stomped down the stairs and was considering calling his brother's cell phone when the front door opened and Sam stepped inside, winded and sweaty but otherwise in one piece.

"Sam! What the hell were you doing?" Dean demanded, taking in his brother's running shoes, grey jogging pants and black t-shirt.

"I just went out for a run," Sam explained, "I didn't think you'd wake up 'til I got back."

"Sam, this Lance Armstrong shit has got to stop," Dean said, "You scared the crap out of me. You could have let me know you were going, at least."

"I left a note," Sam answered sheepishly, brushing sweaty forelocks from his brow.

Dean followed Sam's gaze to the kitchen table where, sure enough, sat a yellow Post-It Note square with his brother's distinctive writing on it.

Now it was Dean's turn to be embarrassed. He hid it though by being the angry, worried older brother again.

"Well, next time leave it somewhere I'll see it! The bathroom mirror maybe," Dean grumbled, relieved that Sam was safe.

"Okay," Sam said and took off his shoes, "Sorry."

Dean sighed, "How is it out there?"

Sam looked up at his brother, "Really warm. It's nice."

Dean smiled, "What d'ya want for breakfast?"

Sam shrugged, "Whatever you're makin'".

"Great, toast and jam it is," Dean said brightly as Sam headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

W

Dean didn't really want Sam to quit with the running. If that was how Sam coped with stuff than all the power to him. It was at least healthier than binge drinking or overeating- neither of which Sam really participated in anyway.

It was the brothers' second day at Rufus's cabin and for Dean it felt like they had been there forever. It felt so strange with just the two of them. It felt like something was missing.

Dean jumped a little when the toast popped up. He grabbed the slices and slathered them with strawberry jam.

He looked up when Sam's footsteps preceded him to the kitchen. Sam had exchanged the jogging pants and t-shirt for a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved green plaid shirt over a white t-shirt.

"Get it while it's hot," Dean said and slid a plate with two slices of toast over to his brother.

Sam looked toward the counter hopefully, "Is there any coffee?"

"Is there any coffee? Who do you think we are, barbarians?" Dean smiled and set a mug of steaming joe right in front of his brother.

Sam sat down and began eating his toast. Dean stood at the counter, munching away at his own breakfast and sipping at his coffee.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked once he finished his toast.

"Today? I don't know, hang out maybe," Dean shrugged and set the saucer he'd been using for his toast in the sink.

Sam knew that Dean wanted to make sure he was alright.

A thought suddenly occurred to Sam, "What are we going to do if the Leviathans find us?"

Dean scoffed, "They probably don't think we're stupid enough to come back here. Don't worry Sammy; this is the last place they'll look."

Sam nodded and took a large gulp of coffee. He relished the warmth that seeped into his body. He felt unusually cold and hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

After breakfast the boys cleaned the few dishes they had made and walked onto the porch to enjoy the pleasant weather.

They sat side by side on the steps, just listening to the sounds of birds and chipmunks and insects, enjoying the light, warm breeze that flowed through the trees.

Dean felt hopeful and optimistic. The brothers were in no immediate danger (and it would remain so, God willing), they had food and money and they were both healthy.

Dean just couldn't believe that Bobby wouldn't be driving up that dirt road anymore, grimy baseball cap perched on his head and a smile on his lips. It seemed like one minute everything was going to be alright, the three of them were together and ready to take on the bad guys like always and in the next moment the world had crumbled beneath them.

Dean's chest ached terribly, the pain of losing Bobby still too fresh. If Dean felt this bad about that loss, he could only imagine how Sam must be feeling.

Kid's always been on the sensitive side; Dean thought and glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Sam appeared to be staring at the tree branches waving in the mild wind. His expression was unfathomable to Dean.

Sam rubbed absently at his left palm; his thumb brushing lightly over the scar. His green eyes mirrored the colour of the leaves on the trees.

Sam took a deep breath and could smell pollen on the air. It was odd to think that while his and Dean's private world had ended, the rest of the world kept turning as though nothing had ever happened, as if Bobby Singer had never even existed.

Sam frowned at the terrible guilt he had over Bobby's death. He knew it wasn't his fault. There had been nothing he could do, but still Sam felt responsible as he did for every friend's death.

Sam looked up at his brother as Dean stood.

"You can stay out here if you want," Dean said, "I don't want to miss my show."

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Are you turning into a diva?"

"What? No, of course not! I just have to watch something and all that's on during the day are soap operas," Dean argued, looking horrified at being called a girl.

"Right," Sam said skeptically, "Go on then, don't want to miss your stories."

Dean huffed indignantly and muttered, "Bitch," before going inside, the screen door of the cabin slapping shut behind him.

Sam chuckled a little and returned his gaze to the forest surrounding the cabin. Sam thought about what might happen in the days ahead. He knew Dean had said he'd get himself a job in town but Sam didn't think that was a wise decision- both their faces were still very recognizable from when those two Leviathans had gone on their killing spree. Although he and Dean were officially dead- again- it made Sam nervous.

Speaking of Leviathans… Sam felt a shiver of fear climb his spine. Sure, even though the brothers posed little threat to them, the monsters still seemed to have Sam and Dean on their hit-list for no other reason than the sport of it. Sam didn't doubt that Dick would search high and low for them. Sam hoped that Dean was right and the Leviathans wouldn't think they'd come back to the cabin.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his longish hair, disheveling it. It didn't seem right to just be sitting in some cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, watching bad TV while Leviathans did whatever the hell they pleased. Sam had never been one to pull out of a mission. Sure, he'd gone to Stanford, but that had been different- he knew his Dad and Dean would be able to handle things without him. But now…Sam doubted there were many, if any, hunters who were aware of the Leviathans. Sam bit his lower lip. He didn't think he could just stand by and watch the Leviathans win without even putting up a fight.

But Sam couldn't do it without Dean. And Dean was done. Sam saw it in his brother's eyes that he had abandoned hunting for a long time to come, maybe forever. Sam felt as though he was caught between a rock and a hard place- Sam didn't think in good conscience he could let it be, he felt he had a responsibility to protect the innocent but he also knew that his brother was not going to get back into the battle. Maybe if Sam spoke to Dean, explained his thoughts, his worries than his brother would consent and not let good people die.

Sam wished Bobby was with them, Bobby wouldn't let them give up. Bobby would call Sam and Dean 'idjits' and tell them to suck it up and get on with their job. Bobby never batted an eye when it came to the lives of innocent people; he never showed fear in the face of any enemy.

Sam wearily stood up from his seat on the porch steps and rubbed at the back of his neck. It was an action more common to Dean than him and Sam's green eyes gazed out at the front lawn and found himself hoping that they would be able to stay at the cabin.

SPN

Dean wasn't really watching the TV. He had turned it on, fully intending to watch Doctor Sexy or something like that but instead he watched his brother. Dean stood a few feet away from the screen door, not daring to move and give away his position as he watched his younger brother.

Dean was still worried about Sam. He hoped that the peaceful atmosphere out in the boonies would relieve his brother's stress. Dean knew that right now stress and Sam were not friends, especially when Lucifer might stop in uninvited at any time.

Dean watched as Sam's shoulders hunched and knew his brother was thinking about something, not a big deduction- Sam was always thinking about something- but from the way he kept fidgeting; with his hair and his hand and the nape of his neck, Dean knew he was ruminating on something important.

Dean frowned. Sam normally wasn't a twitchy guy and his brother worried that he was coming down with something.

That's all we need, Dean thought and turned guiltily away when he saw his brother stand and stare out at the trees around the cabin.

Dean practically ran and jumped over the back of the old couch, causing the piece of furniture to groan in protest when he landed heavily. He turned his gaze quickly to the television- where Dr. Sexy was currently making out with a young, attractive patient- and willed Sam not to come into the living room lest he see Dean's self-incriminating expression.

Dean listened as Sam opened the screen door and stepped inside, his shoes sounding on the wooden floorboards.

Dean heard Sam pause somewhere behind him, "Is there any coffee left or did you drink it all?"

"There's maybe a cup left in the pot," Dean answered in an overly loud voice.

The sound of Sam's footfalls headed in the direction of the kitchen and Dean scolded himself for feeling guilty about watching his brother. It was his job to watch out for his younger sibling and Dean wasn't at all unfamiliar with spying on Sam. While Sam had been little, Dean would often creep up to his brother's crib or bed and just watch him sleep. It comforted Dean to knowing that Sammy was alright, eyes trained to the rhythmic rise and fall of his little brother's chest.

Dean would never admit this out loud, but when he was younger, when his father had first started hunting and left his eldest son (barely out of the toddler stage himself) in charge of his little sibling, Dean had needed Sam as much as Sam needed him. Even as a child, Dean had understood Sam was the closest link he had to his mother, a mother whose death still throbbed painfully in his heart. Somehow Dean had known there was a connection between Sam and Mary; Dean didn't comprehend what it was but just knowing that his brother was with him helped to ease the loneliness and pain of his lost mother.

Maybe you are turning into a girl; Dean thought and blinked furiously at the moisture that had collected in the corners of his eyes.

Dean looked up when Sam entered the living room and sat down on one of the chairs, mug of steaming coffee in hand.

Sam glanced at the television, "You still watch that crap?"

Dean shrugged, "Hey, what can I say, Dr. Sexy is riveting."

Sam chuckled, "I'd have thought you'd have lost your taste for it after we lived it."

Dean mumbled something unintelligible and Sam frowned, staring down at the dark liquid in his mug.

Sam's brow furrowed, "Can we talk?"

Dean looked up, put the TV on mute and waited for his brother to speak.

"It doesn't feel right to just hide out here and let the Leviathans run rampant… we don't have to fight them," Sam began, speaking slowly and calmly, hoping his brother would let him speak before he decided to answer.

Dean didn't say anything so Sam continued, "We don't have to keep hunting… I just want to be able to warn people, you know? We can't let all those innocent people be led right into the Leviathan's trap…"

Sam's words petered out and he dropped his gaze to the coffee mug in his hands once more.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment, sighed and spoke, "What do you want to do then, Sam? How do you want to warn everyone? Do you want to hand out flyers or buy add time on the radio or make a TV commercial? I have an idea! We get a bullhorn and shout at people from the roof of city hall! That'll get their attention!"

Sam flinched. Dean's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Sam should have known Dean would shoot him down as soon as he opened his mouth.

Dean spoke again, his tone softer this time: "I know you just want to save people but we can't tell anyone about the Leviathans… if we do we'll end up in jail or worse. I feel terrible about this, I really do, I wish there was some way to tell people what's happening but there isn't… not without getting us locked up for good."

Dean appreciated that Sam only thought about others. His younger brother had always been that way, often leading to his own downfall, but that was just what Sam was like.

Dean wasn't thinking about others. His thoughts revolved solely around Sam. He didn't want to imagine what would happen to his brother if they did try and warn people.

Dean didn't think he'd be able to keep going if Sam was taken away from him. He had already lost his brother too many times before and he didn't think he'd be able to handle that trauma again. Dean was sure Sam would not be able to survive such a separation.

"I'm sorry Sam but… I just can't… I'm done and I don't want to jeopardize our safety… your safety…" Dean explained, "What if the Leviathans themselves find us? You don't think they'll call us harmless and leave us be? I know this must be hard for you but I am thinking about you, Sam. I don't want to see anything bad happen to you."

Especially not so soon after Bobby's death, Dean thought silently and his heart broke again at the loss of their surrogate father and the look that was now plastered across his brother's face.

"Okay, Dean… I understand," Sam said quietly and stood, looking slightly lost for a moment before walking back into the kitchen.

Dean got up halfway from the couch to follow his brother but then thought better of it.

Give him some time alone, Dean told himself, he'll come around eventually.

Dean peered over the back of the couch, trying to see into the kitchen and find out what his brother was doing but he could only make out a small portion of that room and he didn't see Sam who must have been sitting at the far end of the table.

When had Sam become so meek? Dean wondered as he turned back to the television, when had he become so compliant? His normally stubborn, opinionated, chatterbox of a brother had changed into someone Dean barely knew. How had Dean not seen it before? How long had Sam been like this?

Dean shuddered involuntarily; Sam was almost submissive, spiritless. Dean gulped down the lump in his throat; moisture prickled at the corner of his eyes and he didn't bother to wipe it away.

Dean felt sure his brother's sudden change in personality had something to do with whatever had happened to him in Hell, that Sam's new temperament was a result of the wall coming down and all Sam's memories of his time in Lucifer's Cage flooding in. Dean marveled at the fact that he had not noticed it before, how quiet Sam had become, how eager he seemed to go along with his older brother and not argue as he usually would have done.

Dean looked down, noticing that his hands were clenched into fists and relaxed them. He ran both hands over his face tiredly and sighed deeply.

All he could do was look after his brother and make sure he was happy and healthy. Dean felt extremely inadequate to be taking care of Sam by himself. It had not seemed like such a daunting task when Bobby had been with them. When Bobby had been with them Sam had managed to keep things together for a long time. Now Dean was just waiting for that time-bomb he called a brother to run out of minutes and explode. Dean knew it was going to happen, there was no doubt in his mind- Sam could only keep his memories at bay for so long under such pressure- but the thing that worried Dean the most, was when. When would things go from bad to worse?

Maybe this is just the calm before the storm; Dean thought, not even pretending to pay attention to the television anymore.

The storm of the century, Dean thought grimly.


	4. Against The Wall

Sam stared at the scrambled eggs Dean had plopped onto his plate. Dean frowned at his brother but said nothing. He ate his own breakfast while Sam's remained untouched.

Dean had told Sam he was going out today, told him the day before, and ever since then Sam had hardly spoken, looking at his brother with big 'puppy eyes'.

Dean couldn't help but think that his brother was overreacting just a little bit- he was only going to be gone for a couple of hours at the most- and wasn't it Sam who said they'd need money eventually?

Dean planned to go job hunting after breakfast. He didn't think he'd be too long- he only had a few marketable skills- and he'd be back at the cabin before lunch.

Dean couldn't help but think about the first time his Dad had actually let him go hunting. Dean had been eight and the hunt wasn't a big one, John just wanted to take Dean to the graveyard and help salt and burn the remains of a pissed off ghost of a music teacher who killed her victims by garroting them with piano wire.

Four year old Sammy had followed Dean around the tiny motel room all that day, begging Dean not to leave, making up 'what if' reasons for his older brother not to go:

What if Dean or Dad got hurt?

What if they forgot about him and left town?

What if the CPS people came while they were away?

What if the scary motel owner kicked him out of the room?

What if the bogeyman came for him?

That last one had annoyed Dean. He had turned to his little brother, 'there's no such thing as the bogeyman, Sammy' but the boy didn't look convinced.

Sam had just started having nightmares about the monsters under the bed or in the closet; one monster in particular seemed to scare the crap out of Sam- he called it the bogeyman and apparently the thing had it in for him- and Dean would often wake up in the middle of the night to find his little brother curled up in bed next to him. Eventually Sammy forgot all about the bogeyman, of course he did, when there were real monsters out there to hunt.

But Dean had never forgotten his younger brother's fear and now it seemed as if Sam was afraid that the bogeyman… or else a bogeyman named Lucifer would come for him if Dean left.

Sam knew he was being selfish but he couldn't help it. He was afraid and he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen if his brother went into town.

It seemed as though Lucifer was just waiting for Dean to leave, perhaps hiding in the bushes of the surrounding forest or behind a closed door in the cabin, ready to pounce once Sam was alone.

Sam had even tried to convince his brother to let him come along.

"I'll wait in the car," Sam suggested but Dean had shaken his head.

"Sam, I have to do this solo. Just curl up on the couch and watch some TV or something and I'll be back before you know it," Dean had said

Right before Dean left he made sure Sam was prepared, a superfluous exercise but it seemed to calm his brother somewhat.

"You've got your phone, right?" Dean asked as he stood with the front door open.

Sam nodded and patted the front pocket of his jeans.

"And it's charged?" Dean said.

"Fully charged," Sam confirmed.

"You know where the guns are?" Dean prompted.

"Hall closet, pantry, linen closet upstairs," Sam listed off all the places they'd stashed the largest guns- rifles and shotguns.

"Extra ammo's in the junk drawer," Dean reminded his brother. All the weapons were loaded with either iron or salt rounds.

Dean secretly hoped that his brother wouldn't think he'd need to use any of the guns.

"Okay, just call me if anything starts getting… weird… and I'll come right back here," Dean said. He really didn't want to have to rush back to the cabin if Sam had a hallucination but he didn't want to leave Sam alone either if that happened.

They'd just have to deal if anything did crop up. Dean was sure Sam would be fine. Sam hadn't had any sort of episode since the one in the truck-stop bathroom and Dean saw that as a good sign.

SPN

Sam stood on the porch and watched as Dean pulled out of the driveway and drove down the dirt road that led away from the cabin, toward the town of Whitefish.

He looked out at the surrounding trees nervously then stepped inside and closed the screen door tightly.

Sam's right thumb rubbed at the scar on his left palm as he made his way into the living room and turned on the television. He flipped through the channels and found one showing an old Kung Fu movie.

Sam settled down on the old couch and curled up in the one corner, legs on the cushions and arms propped up on a throw pillow he'd set on the couch's arm.

Maybe Dean was right; maybe he could just chill out, relax and watch some TV until he returned. At least with Dean out of the house, Sam had control over the remote and wasn't forced to watch crappy soap operas.

Sam smiled a little, Dean got way too much into those dramas, and it was kind of funny to watch his older brother act as though the characters on the shows were actually real people.

Sam allowed himself to pay wholehearted attention to the movie, the plot of which featured a young man's home village being burnt to the ground and his journey to become a Kung Fu master so he could avenge the deaths of his family and friends.

Sam's eyes were half closed with sleep when a noise made him sit bolt upright on the couch.

He looked at the TV and saw that the credits were rolling down the screen, accompanied by soft music. Sam flicked the OFF button and the screen went dark.

Eyes wide and ears alert, Sam hardly dared to breathe as he sought out the source of the noise. It could very well have come from outside. Maybe Dean was back! Sam checked his watch and saw that only a half hour had passed since his brother had left.

Sam's heart began to beat faster and he suddenly felt afraid to leave the safety of the couch.

Sam peered over the back of the couch toward the front door. He was beginning to feel stupid for getting freaked out over some noise.

He turned to put the TV back on and jumped. Lucifer was sitting on one of the living room chairs, right ankle resting on left thigh and looking extremely comfortable.

Sam moved with lightning speed, placing the couch between Lucifer and himself. Sam immediately pressed down on the scar on his left palm.

"This isn't happening, you're not real, you're not real," Sam said and Lucifer just raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Lucifer sat up, chin propped on his fists, elbows on his thighs.

"Isn't this getting tiresome, Sam?" he asked in a calm, soft voice.

Sam shook his head as though in denial.

He knew Dean shouldn't have left, he knew it!

Sam was practically panting for breath, terror rising in his chest and his heart pounded like a jackhammer.

"I told you before, Sammy, I'm not going away," Lucifer said and stood up.

Sam backed up until he hit the wall of the cabin, watching the Devil with wary and frightened eyes.

When Lucifer moved, Sam moved. He tried to keep as much distance between the Devil as was possible.

Lucifer's lips curled into a smile as he watched Sam's vain attempts at escape.

Sam's thumb pressed down painfully on the scar on his palm but Lucifer did not disappear.

Sam's shoes thudded dully against the hardwood as he dashed for the front door. His breath caught in his throat as he tugged at the doorknob that refused to turn.

"No, no, no," Sam whispered as his sweaty hands slipped on the polished metal.

"You can't escape me, Sam," Lucifer's voice came from right behind Sam and the boy turned around, his body twisting in shock.

Sam shrunk away from the threat but Lucifer was too fast. He grabbed Sam by the throat, choking him and lifted the young man effortlessly.

Sam tried to pry Lucifer's fingers away from his neck but the Devil only tightened his grip. Black spots flashed before Sam's eyes and he began to feel light-headed.

Lucifer smiled up at Sam and the boy knew exactly what was going to happen then. Orange flames blossomed to life and licked hungrily at the boy's clothes. In seconds, the fire had spread, engulfing Lucifer's victim.

Agony flared across Sam's body and his back arched in pain. Memories of Hell flashed through his mind at the same time, memories of burning without reprieve.

Lucifer smirked and dropped Sam. The boy hit the wooden floor with a thud, writhing in misery.

Slowly the pain died away; Sam sucked in huge gulps of air despite the ache in his throat, his body wracked with tremors and opened his eyes a crack.

Lucifer was still there, sitting in the chair he'd first occupied, watching him.

Sam didn't dare move. His limbs felt terribly weak and his head throbbed from lack of oxygen.

He remembered the first time Lucifer had used fire as torture. The Devil had thought it very amusing to have Sam experience what his mother and Jessica had moments before they died.

Sam closed his eyes, hoping, praying that either Dean would come back or Lucifer would vanish.

Sam heard heavy footsteps advancing and his eyes flew open in terror thinking Lucifer was going to hurt him again. But, it wasn't the Devil this time. It was… his father?

"Dad?" Sam asked and forced himself up on his elbows.

Sam immediately shrank back on seeing the livid expression on John Winchester's face.

"Dad," Sam breathed, feeling as though there was no air in his lungs.

"You idiot!" John growled and Sam's eyes grew large in surprise and fear.

Sam pressed against the door, "Dad… what?"

"You're useless!" John told him with increasing anger.

John grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt and lifted until Sam was standing before him.

Sam pushed against his father, trying to get John to release him, "Dad… let me go!"

John raised a hand and Sam just had time to close his eyes and turn his head before a ham-sized fist slammed into his face.

Sam's nose broke on contact, blood gushing down his chin to stain his shirt.

"You're just asking for trouble, aren't you?" John asked; face inches from Sam's own.

"N-no," Sam stuttered.

John practically growled and dragged Sam away from the door. The scent of alcohol and body odour radiated from John as he pulled his son along.

Sam could not think of what he could have done to make John so angry. He had never seen his father act like this. They had had arguments but the fights never ended in violence.

"D-Dad… c-can't we talk a-about this?" Sam tried but John just shook him.

Tears into Sam's eyes and he wished Dean would come back.

John shoved Sam down and he landed on the floor, heavily. John lifted one booted foot and kicked Sam.

Sam yelped as the steel toe connected with his ribs and curled inward to protect himself.

"You're pathetic," John said, "sniveling…"

"Dad! Stop!" Sam cried out and tried to launch himself toward the kitchen doorway in an attempt to put distance between himself and his father.

Sam's head hit the corner of the coffee table as John grabbed onto his ankle.

John pulled Sam toward him as the boy scrambled to get away.

Sam gasped at his father's next words: "You should have died! You should have died and Mary should have lived!"

Sam kicked out with his free leg and his foot connected with John's face, causing his father to release his hold.

Sam fled to the kitchen. He searched the counter for anything that could be a weapon and grabbed a knife from the butcher's block by the sink. Sam turned around, ready to fight off his own father when Lucifer stepped into the kitchen with a sly smile on his lips.

"Wha- what's going on?" Sam asked the Devil suspiciously. He was sure his father had been the only one in the cabin with him only a minute ago.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked, knife raised at the ready.

Lucifer shrugged.

"What's happening to me" Sam asked and looked around with a fearful expression.

"You've fallen down the rabbit hole, Alice," Lucifer joked and Sam just stared at him.

"You stay away from me!" Sam said and back farther away from the Devil.

Please, please Dean come back. I really need you. Please help me. Help me!

"There isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast," Lucifer said.

Sam started. Lucifer knew what he was thinking!

Sam raised the knife and held his left palm out before him.

"I can still make you leave," Sam whispered.

Lucifer stepped forward nonchalantly, "This has gone quite far enough. My poor, misguided child, do you think you know better than I do?"

Sam brought the blade down on his palm, along the length of the original scar and watched as crimson blood welled up around the silver knife.

Sam hissed in pain but then breathed a sigh of relief when he looked up to see that Lucifer, although still there, flickered in and out like a ghost.

Sam dropped the knife and pressed down on the fresh wound.

"You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?" Lucifer said, voice fading and blinked out completely as Sam dug deeper into the cut.

Sam's legs gave way and he let himself slide down against the counter into a sitting position, hot blood covering his hands and pattering into a puddle on the floor but Lucifer was gone. He was gone, he was gone, he was gone.

SPN

Dean was glad to be out of the cabin for a couple of hours. He had started feeling cooped-up and he took his time driving into town.

He turned on the radio and listened to whatever was playing on the station. He would have liked to stop by a local bar and have a cold beer but he had a job to do. It might not be connected with a hunt but it was just as important.

Dean peered at the storefronts in downtown Whitefish as he passed them, eyes peeled for Help Wanted signs.

He caught sight of just such a sign in the window of a ski and snowboard shop and laughed at the idea of him going in and filling out an application.

Dean was not cool enough to work in a place like that. He didn't even know how to ski, downhill or otherwise and the closest he had been to a snowboard was watching the tournaments on TV.

C'mon, there's gotta be some place I can get a job at! Dean thought and stopped the car in front of a chain link fence behind which a good two dozen cars in various stages of repair or decay resided.

A rusting metal sign stated that this was 'McDougal and Sons Auto Repair'.

"Hm… maybe," Dean mused and inched the car forward. He could see a worn-out Help Wanted sign attached to the fence with some plastic twist ties.

Dean drove slowly through the open gate and into the yard that reminded him vaguely of Bobby's place in South Dakota.

He swallowed hard and tried not to think of his deceased surrogate father, to focus on getting a job to keep the cash flowing that would keep Sam and himself fed.

Dean parked the car and got out, walked to the tiny trailer that had seen better days and knocked briskly on the door.

Dean stood looking out momentarily at the cars in the lot- most were new model Fords and Toyotas and Hondas but he did see an old Buick and a T-Bird.

Dean jumped as the trailer door creaked open and an old man peered out myopically.

"Yeah?" the man said and Dean could smell booze and cigarettes on his breath.

"I saw that Help Wanted sign on your fence and was wondering if you were hiring," Dean said.

The old man squinted at Dean. He wore a grey wife-beater shirt, stained blue jeans and heavy work boots.

"You gotta name?" the old man asked and reached inside the trailer to grab a dark blue button-up shirt which he promptly pulled on over his grubby clothes.

"Dean," he answered, "where's the rest of the clan?"

"Huh?" the man asked and scratched at his grey stubbly chin.

"McDougal and Sons," Dean said, "I was wondering if everyone was on a lunch break."

The old man stepped down from the trailer and Dean got a clearer view of him. The man was a few inches shorter than Dean, with a stooped posture, a pink scalp that showing through wisps of thin white hair, red-rimmed, rheumy eyes and a nose purple with broken blood vessels.

"Name's George McDougal an' I've got this place all to m'self," George answered, seemingly more friendly and willing to talk now that he knew Dean meant business.

"Oh," Dean said but George waved a gnarled, liver-spotted hand.

"The boys dunno a carburetor from a hole in the ground anyway," he assured Dean.

"Are you a big shot apprentice with a degree?" George asked suspiciously.

"No sir, I learned everything from my father," Dean answered.

"Well, I don't know your father," George folded his scrawny arms over his chest and looked Dean up and down.

Dean waited impatiently for the old man to make up his mind.

"Ah what the hell, I guess you'll do," George held out a hand and Dean shook it.

"I can start as soon as tomorrow," Dean said.

George nodded, "Good. Be here by six a.m."

Dean groaned inwardly but congratulated himself on snagging a job on his first try.

W

Dean couldn't help but smile just a little as he pulled out of the lot of McDougal and Sons. Sam would be happy he had a job now and soon money would be coming in and his little brother wouldn't worry.

Dean remembered that the second part of this jaunt into town was to go for supplies and he drove in the direction of the nearest grocery store for such staples as bread and milk and beer.

Dean whistled a little bit as he drove back to the cabin. He couldn't wait to see the look on Sam's face when he tells him about the job!

For once things don't seem to be going too badly, Dean thought, Sam's doing better than he had been a few days ago and we can hide out at the cabin for a long time under the Leviathan's radar.

Dean peered at himself in the rearview mirror and laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. His laugh was one of genuine happiness and relief. The sound tapered off quickly though as Dean thought about Bobby and a pain welled up in his chest.

Dean shook his head, berating himself for laughing, laughing when their last friend, ally, was dead.

He sighed, all the joy vanishing and turned on the radio to hear 'Live and Let Die' play its melodious and somber chords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer's final lines in this chapter (after "You've fallen down the rabbit hole, Alice") are not my own invention. They are taken from William Golding's novel, 'The Lord of the Flies'.  
> The chapter title comes from a song by Cage The Elephant.


	5. The Good Left Undone

"Hey Sam!" Dean called as he unlocked the front door of the cabin and stepped inside, "I'm back!"

Dean received no response.

Maybe the kid fell asleep watching TV or took a nap or went out for a run.

The eldest Winchester put the grocery bags down on the floor, just inside the door and peered around the room. Sam wasn't on the couch, asleep or otherwise.

"Sam?" Dean asked loudly and moved further into the house, peered into the kitchen and froze when he saw his brother… and the blood.

"Sam! Oh God, Sammy!" Dean ran into the kitchen and went down on his knees beside his brother.

Sam's eyes were closed but he had the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Dean put a hand on either side of his brother's face, using his thumb to lift one of Sam's eyelids.

The pupil shrank at the sudden intrusion of light but returned to its correct size. He wasn't having an episode, then.

Dean tapped Sam's face gently, "Hey, Sammy, wake up…"

Sam's eyes opened slowly, "Dean, you came back."

Dean frowned as his brother spoke like he believed Dean had left forever.

"Yeah man, I was out lookin' for a job and getting groceries. Remember?" Dean said as he looked his brother up and down to locate the source of the blood.

"I didn't think you'd come back," Sam said. Mostly to himself, Dean thought.

"Of course I came back, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, "I'd never leave you."

Sam replied quietly and closed his eyes again, "I know."

"Sammy, open your eyes, look at me. Okay?" Dean instructed and Sam obeyed.

Dean saw that Sam's hands were coated in drying blood.

"What happened?" Dean asked, a little more tersely than he meant to.

"He wouldn't go away, Dean. He wouldn't leave. But I made him," Sam said matter-of-factly and Dean didn't even have to ask who 'he' was.

Dean reached out and lifted Sam's left hand. There was a large cut almost bisecting the palm but there was too much blood for Dean to make out the extent of the wound.

Shit, Dean thought, Sam cut his own hand open.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spied a knife lying on the linoleum floor close to his brother. He hadn't noticed it before in his rush to get to Sam. The knife blade gleamed a rusty red of drying blood.

Dean left Sam where he was as he went to the bathroom and dug the First Aid kit from underneath the sink.

When he returned to the kitchen Dean helped Sam up and sat him at the kitchen table. Dean washed his hands in the sink and opened the kit, taking out a brown plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, gauze bandages, a pair of medical scissors and a needle and suture thread.

Dean had Sam hold his left hand flat on the tabletop, palm facing up. First he cleared up the blood on his brother's hands with a piece of wet paper towel and then turned his attention to the injured appendage. He uncapped the peroxide and held a cotton ball over the mouth of the bottle, turning it upside down once to coat the cotton.

Dean didn't even say 'this might sting a bit' as he pressed the peroxide-soaked cotton ball to the wound in Sam's hand. They had both used enough of the stuff that they knew the drill.

Dean watched Sam for a reaction and felt unease wash over him when Sam didn't so much as flinch. The peroxide bubbled in the wound, turning pink with blood as it cleaned out any infection.

Once the wound was clean enough Dean examined it with the care of any doctor. The cut was indeed long, reaching from just beneath Sam's index finger diagonally toward the right side of his palm, almost to his wrist. The wound was wide, almost gaping as a result of Sam pressing down on it. Dean grimaced at how red and irritated the tissue looked. Sam was definitely going to need stitches.

Dean pulled Sam's hand closer to him and poked the suture thread through the eye of the needle. He looked up to see his brother watching him through half-closed eyes.

Slowly and thoroughly Dean began to sew the wound up.

"Are you angry?" Sam asked suddenly, making Dean jump a little.

Dean shook his head, "No, not angry. Worried."

But Dean was angry. He was angry that Sam had had another hallucination, one leading to self-mutilation this time. He was angry that Bobby was dead and now they were utterly alone. He was angry at Cas for destroying Death's wall in the first place and making Sam like this. Dean was angry with himself for leaving his brother alone.

"There you go," Dean leaned forward and cut a critical eye at his work. It wasn't great by any surgeon's standards but it was neat and would hold together while the wound healed. Dean wrapped Sam's hand in the gauze bandages, holding them firmly in place with a couple of strips of medical tape.

Sam glanced at his hand, now encircled by clean white bandages and brought it to his chest protectively.

"Why don't you clean up a little and I'll make us some lunch?" Dean said, not really asking Sam but using a question anyway. His brother's shirt was stained with blood and it would be a bitch to wash.

"Okay," Sam said quietly and made his way out of the kitchen toward the stairs to where his room was.

Dean washed his hands again and grabbed the previously forgotten grocery bags, setting them on the table and clearing off the First Aid kit and its instruments.

SPN

Sam climbed the stairs slowly and wandered down the hall to the room he'd claimed as his own. The bedroom was relatively small with a pine dresser and matching nightstand; a worn red area rug; a framed picture of a couple of white-tailed deer in a wintery field and a twin sized bed that was too short for him with a plain brass headboard and draped in a red, blue and green tartan wool blanket.

Sam opened one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a clean long-sleeved dark grey shirt. He slipped his soiled shirt over his head, paying little heed to his bandaged hand and replaced it with the clean one. Sam sat down on the edge of his bed for a moment. After he'd cut himself he had realized that the injuries he'd suffered at John's hands had disappeared; his nose wasn't broken and his ribs didn't feel as though they'd been cracked. Sam sighed. He should have known his father wasn't really in the cabin with him.

But it had felt so real at the time, Sam thought.

It seemed that whenever Sam had a hallucination of Lucifer all logic flew out the window. It didn't matter that the Devil was still in his cage, it didn't matter that John had been dead for five years; all that mattered was that it was real for Sam.

Sam brushed his hair from his forehead and sighed. He had made a silent promise to Dean that'd he be able to manage it and he had, just in his own way. Sam knew how to make the hallucinations stop, Dean may not like it but at least it worked. Pain seemed the only thing that grounded him in the here and now, that reminded him of where he was and what was real.

Sam grimaced at the irony. Physical pain drove away the painful memories of Hell and Lucifer's torture.

"Sam!" He heard his brother call from the kitchen downstairs.

Sam stood and stretched his arms over his head. He felt simultaneously exhausted and on edge. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins during the hallucination had worn off and now he just wanted to sleep.

Sam held onto the railing tightly as he made his way down the wooden steps. His legs felt a little wobbly and he was afraid of falling down the stairs.

He peered into the kitchen to see Dean standing over the stove, white and black striped oven mitts on his hands and his attention focused on a frying pan.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, "Sit down."

Sam took a seat and looked at the table already set for two with saucers, glasses, a jug of milk and a bottle of ketchup.

Sam glanced at his brother as Dean slid a grilled cheese sandwich onto his plate and cut it for him- diagonally so the slices were triangular because once a four-year-old Sammy had informed his brother that the triangles tasted better- and paused to put his own sandwich on his plate before setting the pan aside and sitting down.

Sam stared at the food for a moment, "You haven't made grilled cheese since I was nine."

Dean picked up the ketchup bottle and squirted some onto his plate.

"I had a craving for it," Dean explained.

Sam's green eyes darkened as he looked at his brother.

"Eat," Dean said before taking a bite of his own sandwich.

Dean sat his half of sandwich down and stared at his brother, "You didn't eat anything for breakfast."

Dean was trying to be calm but he was getting annoyed at his brother, if only a little bit.

Sam regarded his sandwich with a bland expression but didn't eat it. Dean finished his own grilled cheese and grabbed Sam's plate.

If Sam wanted to act like a bratty little kid than Dean would let him. Dean didn't have time to sit around and wait for his brother to decide to eat.

He took the plate over to the garbage, held it over the trash can and waited for Sam to protest. His brother's green eyes fixed onto the plate but he didn't say a word as Dean dumped the now-cold sandwich into the trash.

Dean set the dirty dishes in the sink and left the kitchen to go watch some television. He flipped through the channels until he found some wrestling and turned up the volume.

Sam didn't move from the kitchen and suddenly Dean felt guilty for acting like a dick.

He sighed and thought he'd make Sam another sandwich when his cell phone vibrated- 'Smoke on the Water' trilling loudly.

"Yeah?" Dean asked without checking the caller ID. It'd be no one he knew anyway.

"Is this Mr. Thomas Smith or Mr. Jonathan Smith?" an unfamiliar male voice asked.

"Who wants to know?" Dean grumbled unpleasantly.

"This is Norman Bell from 'Bell, Gilmore, and Epps Funeral Home'," the man informed him.

Damn, Dean thought. He barely remembered that Sam had arranged for Bobby's remains to be transported back to Sioux Falls to be buried. Although it had only been four days ago it seemed like a lifetime.

"This is Tom," he replied in a less hostile tone.

"Ah, we were wondering about what preparations you would like for Mr. Singer's final rest," Mr. Norman Bell answered.

"Uh, well we're not exactly in South Dakota right now but if you hang on we can be there by late tomorrow evening," Dean said.

"Whatever is most convenient for you, Mr. Smith," Norman Bell said, "and may I say that I am very sorry for your loss."

I'll bet you are, Dean thought as he thanked the funeral director and hung up.

Dean rubbed his face with his hands. To drive from Whitefish to Sioux Falls would take almost eighteen and a half hours on the I-90 E, longer if the traffic was bad.

"Sam, we've gotta go to Sioux Falls," Dean called into the kitchen without looking, "Bobby's there."

Dean got up before Sam exited the kitchen and went upstairs to pack some clothes for the funeral- his black FBI suit and dress shoes that he didn't think he'd be using again- and a couple of pairs of regular clothes- jeans and long-sleeved shirts- which he stuffed into his duffel bag.

He heard Sam in his own room, packing his clothes quickly and deliberately.

Dean slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and went to stand in the doorway of his brother's room while he finished packing.

Sam didn't look at his brother as he packed. Dean was mad at him. He knew it and he didn't want to do something that would make Dean even more so.

Sam packed hastily so his brother wouldn't become impatient with him.

Dean noticed that Sam kept his gaze to the floor and he felt like even more of an asshole than before.

They silently left the cabin, Dean pausing to lock the door; put their bags in the trunk of the crappy car they now drove before they both sat down in their usual seats- Dean driving and Sam in shotgun.

"It's one thirty now so we should get to Sioux Falls around eight o'clock in the morning," Dean calculated and groaned inwardly.

Sam didn't say anything.

Dean started the car, the radio blaring The Kinks 'All Day and All of the Night'.

W

They had just passed the city limits of Whitefish before Dean spoke again.

"Sammy, look- I'm sorry," he said and glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Sam was looking out the passenger window at the scenery whipping past. The houses were now few and far between, replaced by ranches while the mountains that attracted skiers and snowboarders loomed in the background.

"I know you are," Sam muttered but didn't return his brother's gaze.

Dean sighed and wished they'd get to Sioux Falls and get the funeral over with.

He should call George McDougal and let him know he wouldn't be coming in the next day.

Dean fished his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number for the auto shop.

"Yeah?" George's voice rasped on the other end after the phone had rang once.

"Mr. McDougal, its Dean Winchester, you hired me a few hours ago," Dean began.

"Yeah, yeah I remember," George said in a voice that meant he didn't like to be reminded of such things as though he was an old man.

"I can't come in to work tomorrow," Dean said. He noticed Sam was watching him now.

"An' why's that? What's more important than coming into work the day after you're hired?" George asked in an annoyed voice.

"Burying my father," Dean informed him. He decided to refer to the old hunter as his father in order to keep explanations simple and for all intents and purposes Bobby had been his father, even while John had been alive.

"Oh, uh, well take as much time as you need," George faltered and hung up the phone.

"You didn't tell me you got a job," Sam said. Dean didn't hear an accusation in his brother's voice, only curiosity.

"Yeah, there's a little repair shop downtown and the old geezer needed someone else to help him with all the cars," Dean said casually as though the man had taken one look at him and hired him on the spot.

"That's great, Dean," Sam said and flashed him a wan smile.

"Thanks," Dean said and felt a little better, as though Sam's congratulations had been his forgiveness of Dean's earlier actions.

W

They drove until six thirty that evening when Dean stopped, insisting they get something for dinner.

Sam didn't say anything as Dean pulled the car into the parking lot of a roadside diner named 'Darla's'.

The place was crowded and loud- truck drivers of every shape and size sat at the bar or grouped in threes and fours at the tables. Families with kids ranging from infants to glum looking teenagers took up most of the booths in the restaurant.

"This place looks popular," Dean said as he and Sam squeezed into the last free booth at the far end of the diner.

The restaurant was nondescript- Formica tables and bar, vinyl and steel chairs, beige tiled floors and mint green walls- just one of many diners the boys had eaten at over the years.

A waitress with fluffy white hair handed the boys menus and poured water into their glasses.

Dean opened his menu and glanced at the generic diner foods listed. He supposed he could go for a burger and fries. Maybe even a milkshake as well.

He looked at Sam who was staring intently at his own menu. Dean hoped his brother would eat something. He didn't want to tell Sam to eat. He didn't want to embarrass Sam or make a scene. Dean didn't want to treat Sam like a kid, especially after the grilled cheese episode that afternoon.

To Dean's relief, when the waitress returned to take their orders Sam asked for a chicken salad sandwich.

Dean didn't say anything to his brother as he watched Sam eat his dinner slowly and methodically. He couldn't help but think though, that his brother was forcing himself to eat.

Dean's own burger and vanilla milkshake were nothing to call home about. They were pretty bland as far as he was concerned but they were food so he didn't complain.

Sam made a point of eating everything on his plate so Dean wouldn't worry about him.

After dinner the boys got back into the car and continued driving toward Sioux Falls. Dean drove through the night, wanting to get to their destination as soon as possible so they could return to Whitefish.

Dean didn't like the idea of having Bobby buried in a cemetery; their friend should have been laid to rest in a meadow or a forest or something similar to that, like how his own body had been interred in a wooded area in Pontiac, Illinois after the Hellhounds had gotten to him. Bobby should have a proper hunter's funeral but of course that would be out of the question with Bell, Gilmore and Epps.

Dean sighed, and glanced at his brother sleeping in the passenger's seat, his head resting against the window.

Dean made the decision to take better care of Sam once they got back to the cabin- no more afternoons like the one they'd just had. Acting like a prick wouldn't help Sam even though sometimes Dean just wanted his brother to be okay again and any behavior that was out of the ordinary made Dean nervous.

Don't get pissed at Sam, Dean reminded himself, it's not Sam's fault the wall collapsed.

Dean angrily swiped away the moisture that had accumulated in his eyes as he thought about Cas and what he'd done to Sam and the fact that he was gone. Dean looked at his brother again.

"I'm sorry Sam," he whispered, "God, I'm truly sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a song by Rise Against.


	6. And When I Die

Sam looked around furtively as Dean pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home at nine forty-two the next morning.

It felt odd to be back in Sioux Falls, especially now that there was nothing left for them there.

Sam glanced at his brother and saw that Dean's expression was set.

Sam shoved his right hand into the pocket of his jeans and felt the familiar crinkle of paper- the paper that he'd scribbled those mysterious numbers onto just before Bobby's death.

He didn't take the paper out and look at it like he wanted to; Sam could just imagine Dean rolling his eyes, telling him to give it up, that those numbers were useless. Sam didn't know what those numbers meant, what they were possibly for: a date, a code, a combination.

Dean had said half-jokingly that they could be the winning numbers for a lottery ticket.

"Hurry up, Sammy," Dean's voice called from halfway across the parking lot. Sam noticed he was still standing beside the car while his brother had already approached the red-brick funeral home.

Sam caught up to his brother who scowled but didn't say anything else. They stepped inside and looked around.

The foyer was very expensively decorated. The floors were cherry wood, the walls were a cream colour, a rich red and gold rug ran from the door to the end of the hall.

There were four pedestal tables with crystal vases of roses of red, pink, white and yellow along the walls of the foyer.

Giving customers an idea of what they could purchase, Dean thought with a sneer.

There were a half dozen doorways that led off from the front hall, all the rooms closed off from prying eyes.

A man came out from one of the rooms and approached the boys with measured steps.

The man was maybe a little older than middle-age, with salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly, and a smooth face from which dark eyes peered. He had thin lips pulled into an appropriate noncommittal expression. He wore a dark grey suit and navy blue tie. His dress shoes squeaked on the hardwood floors.

"May I help you?" He asked once he was within speaking distance from Sam and Dean.

"We're the Smiths. Tom and John," Dean said, "Our uncle's here."

The man's brow wrinkled for a moment and then he smiled sadly, "Ah yes, Smith. I remember now. We spoke yesterday."

Dean nodded.

"Can we speak in my office," the man said and held out a beckoning hand to the boys.

Dean led the way into the office and sat down in one of the two chairs before a large oak desk.

Sam hesitated momentarily and then took a seat beside his brother. There was something about the man that felt off. Maybe he was still just a little nervous from the hallucination he'd had the day before.

"I'm Norman Bell," the man introduced himself, "Let me just say, once again that I am terribly sorry for your loss."

Sam saw that the man's facial expression conveyed the right amount of sympathy as he spoke but his eyes were cold.

Sam fidgeted in his seat until Dean glanced at him. Sam sat still but fiddled with a loose string from the gauze bandages on his left hand.

"Look, Mr. Bell," Dean began, leaning forward with his elbows on his legs, "We are not millionaires here. We just want our uncle buried, got it? Don't try to up-sell or anything like that 'cos you'd just be wasting all our time."

Norman Bell nodded as though he understood.

"I know this must be a difficult time for you," he said as though he really cared.

How does he do that? Sam wondered. Surely that must work on anybody else who sits in these chairs but Sam wasn't fooled. It takes a liar to know one and Sam knew that this man was well practiced in the art.

"Can we get Bobby buried later today?" Dean asked.

Norman Bell frowned, "It will take at least a day for all the preparations if you're in a hurry."

Dean mirrored Bell's expression, "We don't really have a lot of time to sit around here."

"The earliest we can put Mr. Singer to rest is tomorrow afternoon," Norman Bell said and folded his long-fingered hands together.

Dean sat back, "That'd be alright, I guess."

Norman Bell nodded, "Now, about the coffin-"

"Whatever's the cheapest," Dean answered before the man finished.

Norman raised an eyebrow. He had seen a lot of odd requests in his years as a funeral director but he thought that these two boys took the cake. It seemed to him that they just wanted their uncle buried with no pomp or ceremony of any kind and their frugalness annoyed him.

"Are you sure? We have some very cheap oak coffins," Bell began but stopped, remembering that Tom Smith was not to be taken in by up-selling

"Alright, the least expensive coffins we have are unstained pine," Norman said.

Dean nodded.

"We don't want flowers or any frou-frou crap like that," Dean informed him.

"And the grave marker?" Norman asked; he would have someone go and pick up the desired marker for the Smiths. In Norman's opinion, a gravestone said a lot about people and their relationship with their recently departed.

Dean shrugged. He actually hadn't thought about that before.

"A small one," Dean said finally.

"Granite?" Norman pressed, "Red or black or grey?"

"Uh, granite would be okay," Dean hesitated and looked at his brother, "What do you think… Johnny? Black or grey?"

Sam lifted one shoulder. Whatever Dean thought was best.

"Red," Dean told Norman.

"What would you like the engraving to say?" Norman asked.

"Robert Singer… date of birth and death," Tom Smith appeared to be thinking particularly hard about what he was going to say next, "And 'ab uno disce omnes'. It means 'from one, learn all'."

Norman looked at John Smith. The young man had not spoken a word. At all. And he vaguely wondered if he could talk.

"How many people will be attending the funeral?" Norman asked.

"You're looking at 'em," Dean said, indicating his brother and himself.

Norman didn't think he'd ever had a funeral party consisting of two people. His colleagues would laugh at him.

"I take it there is not going to be any reception afterwards?" Norman said even though he knew the answer would be no.

Dean shook his head, "All we want to do is see our uncle laid to rest."

Norman resisted the urge to sigh and stood, "Would you like to see some of the coffins so you can get an idea of what Mr. Singer will be buried in."

And maybe you'll change your mind and buy something worth my time, he thought as he led the Smith brothers out of the office and through another doorway into the show room.

Much to Norman's annoyance, Tom Smith still refused anything more than a plain, unadorned pine casket. The coffin looked out of place among the others of oak and cherry and mahogany.

Tom's brother, John, remained silent as they looked at the coffins, giving no verbal input himself but it seemed as though Tom knew what he was thinking anyway.

They returned to Norman's office and worked out the price. Norman's frown deepened at the low cost and wished he could have worked with that snooty widow that Epps currently had as a client. She had walked in draped with furs, diamonds and pearls practically dripping from her fingers as she told them that 'nothing was too good for her poor Rodney.'

W

"Wow Sam, you could have said something back there," Dean said as the brothers got into the car and headed toward the nearest motel.

Sam looked at Dean, trying to gauge if he was angry or not.

"You knew what you were doing," Sam explained.

"So that's why you suddenly play dumb?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged and brushed his right hand over the top of his left one, fingers passing above the clean white bandages.

"You feeling alright?" Dean snapped and Sam held back a cringe.

"Fine," Sam muttered and looked out the passenger window.

Dean glanced at Sam worriedly but his brother didn't see.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a tiny motel not far from the funeral home.

They got a room and piled inside. Dean flopped down on one of the beds wondering what they were supposed to do now.

After all the driving he'd done, Dean was ready to take a long nap.

Sam didn't sit down. He stood by the door, looking around the room as though he expected a monster to pop out from the bathroom or from underneath one of the beds.

Dean looked up at his brother, "Earth to Sam!"

Sam's head jerked up and his gaze focused on his brother.

"I'm okay," Sam assured him before Dean could speak again.

Dean looked at Sam skeptically but didn't say anything.

He lay back down against the bed sheets and fell asleep.

SPN

Sam paced the motel room restlessly. He glanced at his sleeping brother and knew that Dean would not wake up for a while- driving all night did that to him.

Sam rubbed at his bandaged left palm, not too hard but enough to illicit a dull ache. Being back in Sioux Falls made Sam feel very exposed and vulnerable. He didn't forget that this city was Ground Zero for the Leviathans and wondered if any of the monsters had stuck around.

Sam felt torn between staying in the motel room which was probably the safest and most rational choice and a desire to go wander, take a quick walk to gather himself.

Deciding he could not sit in the motel room until his brother woke up, Sam crept over to the front door and slipped out, forgetting to leave a note for Dean in the unlikely event that he would wake before he returned.

SPN

Dean was very nearly on the verge of panic when he woke up and Sam wasn't in the motel room. At first he thought that his brother was in the bathroom but it was dark and silent. After that, Dean's adrenaline started pumping.

He left the motel room, got into the craptastic car (for once glad that he didn't have the conspicuous Impala) and drove slowly down the streets looking for any sign of his oversized younger brother.

Dean tapped the steering wheel nervously as he peered around.

"C'mon Sammy, c'mon," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Gotta put a leash on that kid," Dean said out loud and just prayed that his brother was alright.

Dean drove around the city of Sioux Falls for a half hour before heading back to the motel. He was terrified that Sam was in trouble. He had called his brother's cell phone what must have been over a dozen times but had received no answer.

Dean wondered if Sam had had a hallucination and had booked it in fear. Dean hoped that was what had happened- he could handle his brother's memories of Hell. The thing that Dean couldn't handle though, was the idea that there might still been Leviathans prowling around the city and if they had caught sight of Sam…

W

Dean paced around the tiny motel room, glancing every so often at Sam's duffel bag thrown haphazardly onto one of the beds.

Unable to wait in the room any longer, Dean stepped outside and leaned against the closed motel door, key dangling from his fingers.

He folded his arms loosely over his chest and squinted into the distance, seeing only storefronts and unfamiliar passersby.

SPN

Sam just wandered around the streets of Sioux Falls, past the shops downtown, thinking about Bobby and the fact that he was now gone forever.

It still seemed so unreal that Bobby could be dead. Even though the boys had lost many friends over the years, it had just been a given that they'd never really be alone. Sam had always assumed, erroneously, that they would always have an ally by their side.

A lump grew in Sam's throat and he tried to swallow it down. He stopped inside a diner and ordered a coffee, hoping the hot drink would make him feel better.

Sam sat with his hands wrapped around the warm mug, peering at the dark liquid, his own reflection mirrored in its surface as he attempted to calm himself.

Sam wished he could go back and do things differently. Maybe next time they'd be fast enough to save Bobby.

Sam shook his shaggy head at the thought; he knew from experience that there was no way to change the past.

"Sam?" he jerked upward at the sound of his name and looked around in barely contained fear- if it was Lucifer…

A middle-age woman stood beside Sam's table. She wore a police uniform and held her wide-brimmed hat down by her side. Her brown eyes were full of recognition and concern, her equally brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head.

It took only a moment for Sam to realize he knew who this was.

He stood and offered her the seat across from him, "Sheriff Mills, what are you doing here?"

Which was a stupid question, the Sheriff lived in Sioux Falls, but she was the last person Sam had been expecting to see and he couldn't think of anything else to ask.

"I could say the same about you," the Sheriff smiled, "And please, call me Jody."

"Alright," Sam conceded and the waitress came over and asked the Sheriff if she'd like anything.

"Coffee please," Jody said and the waitress retreated to fill the order.

She turned her attention back to Sam, a light smile on her lips.

"Is Dean here too?" Jody asked and Sam nodded.

"What about Bobby?" Sam cringed inwardly at the excitement in the Sheriff's voice.

"Sheriff," Sam began but paused.

"Jody," Sam corrected himself and continued, "Dean and I are here but Bobby…"

Sam hesitated and looked around the diner. No one appeared to be interested in their conversation.

Sam leaned forward and beckoned with his bandaged hand for the Sheriff to do the same.

"Bobby's dead, Sheriff, he was killed," Sam whispered as quietly as possible while still being heard by Jody.

The Sheriff put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widened with shock and she sat back in her chair.

"Was it… was it one of those monsters?" she whispered, leaning far forward over the table again.

Sam nodded almost imperceptibly.

The waitress returned and sat a mug of black coffee on the table before Jody, along with a bowl of sugar packets and a single-serving pitcher of milk.

"We've come back here to bury him," Sam said once the waitress was gone.

SPN

Jody shook her head. She couldn't believe that Bobby Singer; the gruff, rude, insufferable, town drunk had finally been laid low. Jody couldn't believe that she had only gone to visit him up in Whitefish a few weeks ago and now here Sam was telling her that Bobby Singer was dead.

Jody forced herself not to cry. She needed to get a hold of her emotions. She liked Bobby, she would not deny that. It had been a long time since she had liked any man since her son had died and her marriage had fallen through. There had been something almost endearing in the old, bearded scrap-yard owner. She didn't think she could have been saved from monsters twice and not like the man.

And they say chivalry is dead, Jody thought and nearly broke down.

C'mon girl! Quit it and think about the boys, Jody scolded herself. Sure, she had affections for Bobby Singer but from what she gathered, the man had been like a father to the Winchester brothers.

Jody took a deep, steadying breath, pausing to add milk and sugar to her coffee and then allowed herself to meet Sam Winchester's eyes.

"How are you and Dean holding up?" she asked and reached out to touch the young man's unbandaged hand.

She felt Sam stiffen momentarily and she wondered if she shouldn't have touched him, before the young man relaxed.

"We're okay," Sam assured her and Jody could see that from the look in his eyes that he was far from okay.

Jody nodded though and patted his hand briefly before taking her own hand away, using both to hold the coffee cup to her lips.

"When is the funeral?" Jody asked after setting the mug down.

"Tomorrow," Sam said and picked at the gauze covering his hand, "At four o'clock."

Jody nodded and her expression turned sympathetic.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked absent-mindedly.

"Oh, I cut it," Sam answered and resisted the urge to pull his hand to his chest protectively.

Jody nodded. An accident, she assumed.

Sam looked around uncomfortably for a moment before standing, "Come to the funeral if you like. I have to get back to the motel."

Jody stared dumbly at the young man as he put some money on the table and moved to leave the diner.

"Sam! Wait!" she called and followed him out the door.

Sam stopped and looked expectantly at the Sheriff.

"I'm not on duty right now," Jody explained, "Why don't I give you a lift to the motel?"

"No thanks," Sam said and Jody saw him rub at his bandaged palm.

"Look," Jody put her hands on her hips, "You were a friend of Bobby's and it's the least I can do."

Jody could see the suspicion clear on the young man's face and her heart wrenched for him.

"You can trust me, Sam," Jody said and the boy looked like he had heard those very words before, spoken by all the wrong people, "I am keeping those monsters away from the city."

Sam nodded and decided a ride wouldn't be bad. Besides, he was sure he could trust Jody. Sheriff Mills was the one who had discovered that Borax burns Leviathans, after all.

The pair walked to the tiny parking lot beside the diner and settled into the police cruiser.

Jody smiled in what she hoped was a comforting, reassuring way. The young man seemed very… timid and although she didn't know why, she wanted only to put him at ease.

Sam told her the name of the motel and Jody suppressed a grimace- it was one of the cheaper, less desirable places to stay in town.

The drive was silent. Sam didn't speak up and Jody was unsure of what to say when it was obvious the young man was still so torn up about Bobby's death.

Thinking back to when her son had passed away and how hopeless she had felt, Jody felt the need to say something to Sam.

"It gets better," Jody said quietly and Sam looked at her for a moment. Jody could not read the expression on his face but something told her he doubted her words.

As Jody maneuvered the cruiser into the parking lot of the motel, the first thing Sam saw was his brother.

Dean's body language belied the anger and worry that seemed to be radiating off him in waves.

Sam groaned and Jody peered at the youngest Winchester from the corner of her eye.

Jody parked the car beside a faded Chevy Camero that may have once been blue or green or silver- it was hard to tell- and turned to Sam. The Sheriff was well aware that Dean Winchester was glaring daggers at his brother through the cruiser's windshield.

"If you or Dean need anything-" Jody began but Sam gave her a sad smile.

"We won't be coming back; Sheriff," Sam said softly, "And it'd probably be for the best if you didn't come to Whitefish again."

Jody felt angry tears well up in her eyes.

"What are you boys going to do?" She asked.

Sam shrugged self-consciously, "Fall off the grid."

Jody's eyes grew wide, "But what about the monsters? They're still out there, aren't they?"

Sam nodded but before he could say anything else Dean rapped his knuckles impatiently against the passenger's side window.

Sam grimaced and for a moment Jody wondered just how angry his brother was. Sam opened the car door and Jody followed suit, if only to keep an eye on the situation.

Sam knew his brother was livid. He also knew that Dean would never hurt him but he was grateful that Sheriff Mills was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a song by Laura Nyro.


	7. Requiem

"Goddamn it, Sam! Where were you? What were you thinking?" Dean snapped at his brother as he exited the police car.

He was grateful Sam was back safe and sound but Dean had been worried. A million and one things could have happened to Sam while he'd had been taking his little tour of Sioux Falls and it would have just been their luck if his brother had gotten hurt.

Sam shifted from foot to foot nervously, "I just couldn't stay in the room, Dean… I was feeling… claustrophobic in there."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end.

He turned to the police officer and recognized her immediately.

"Hello Sheriff," he said tiredly, "Did Sam tell you about Bobby?"

Jody nodded. She could tell that Dean was still angry and she felt it might not be a good idea to leave the boys alone so soon.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jody said, "I know he meant a lot to you."

Dean snorted, "That's a bit of an understatement."

Jody pursed her lips, "I know you probably don't trust a whole lot of people but… you can trust me."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the Sheriff, "Who are you?"

Jody's mouth opened, taken aback. She didn't know how to answer that question.

"Sheriff Jody Mills," she said if that was what Dean wanted to hear.

"Dean, she's alright," Sam said quietly, tentatively in Jody's defense.

Dean glared momentarily at his brother; Jody saw and wondered what was going on between the two of them.

Sam faltered and his gaze shifted downward. His posture indicated that something was not right with the boy. His shoulders slumped, his head ducked down so that his bangs hid his eyes, his right hand gripped his left one tightly.

Jody wondered if he had actually cut his hand by accident.

She took a step toward Dean, hands held palm upward in a submissive, friendly gesture.

"I know this must be hard for you, coming back here, but I am who I look like," Jody said. Anyone listening in would have found that last comment confusing and she hoped Dean would understand it.

"Those monsters bleed black goo, right? If you're not completely sure than you can see for yourself that I'm not a threat," Jody pressed on, hoping that her words would be sufficient enough, and held out one hand, palm upward.

Dean hesitated, still nervous and wary before he relaxed a little. Of course Sheriff Mills was Sheriff Mills. No Leviathan would voluntarily offer up their wrist to be sliced open for inspection.

"I'm sorry Sheriff," Dean apologized, "It's just that… you're right, being back here has me kind of on edge."

Jody smiled a little, "I understand. I'm never sure who's who anymore. In the back of my mind I'm always wondering if the person I'm sitting next to in the restaurant or the cashier I'm buying my groceries from is really my neighbour or a monster."

Jody really knew very little about the Winchesters. Bobby had told her that they were sons of one of his friends and that they had been through hell but that was about all the information he seemed willing to give out.

She knew they hunted monsters, just like Bobby did, but there was something about the two of them that felt odd, almost unsettling, and Jody just couldn't put her finger on it.

Dean seemed like he had a temper. His posture told her even now he was holding back after his initial outburst at Sam and Jody wondered if he was ever violent.

Sam appeared painfully shy and not only that… Jody hesitated to use the word 'broken' but that was the one that continued to pop into her mind every time she looked at the boy. He seemed frightened and nervous but Jody couldn't tell if that fear was directed at Dean or something else.

"I don't like all of us standing out here in the open," Dean said suddenly, "Would you like to come in, Sheriff?"

Jody paused, she should really get back to the station but something told her she needed to be here instead.

The city won't implode if I'm gone for a few more minutes; Jody thought, and I need to make sure everything is alright with these boys.

The trio stepped inside the motel room. Dean closed the door after them.

Jody saw that besides the two duffel bags on the beds there were no other indications that the room was occupied.

Sam sat down on the bed closest to the door and Dean remained standing. Sam gently rubbed at his bandaged palm and Jody watched as his brother sat down beside him.

"How are you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked and took Sam's left hand in his own.

"Okay," Sam answered and Dean reached up and gripped his brother's shoulder comfortingly.

"We'll get Bobby buried and then we'll go straight back to the cabin, that sound like a plan?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

As Jody watched she amended her previous suspicions. Dean didn't seem so much angry at Sam as concerned about him.

Jody saw the love in Dean's eyes when he looked at his brother and she felt as though she was interrupting a very private moment.

She cleared her throat, "I should get back to work but I'll see you tomorrow at the funeral."

Dean nodded, stood and shook the Sheriff's hand. He had been aware of what she must have thought of him when he'd approached the cruiser, guns blazing and his relief masked by anger at Sam.

"Don't worry about it Sheriff, we take care of our own," Dean said, feeling slightly corny, hoping it would dispel some of Jody's anxiety.

She chuckled slightly and exited the room after a heartfelt 'look after yourselves' to both boys.

Once the Sheriff's cruiser was rolling down the street away from the motel, Dean turned to his brother.

"Damn it, Sam! What were you thinking, going outside by yourself, here?" Dean said, his anger having lost its heat but Dean still wanted to get through to his brother.

"I'm sorry I forgot a note," Sam apologized and rubbed his left palm.

"I don't care about the note, Sam! What if there were Leviathans still trolling around, huh? What if they saw you? Do you think they'd just ignore you?" Dean raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

Sam lowered his head. He wasn't feeling well. His stomach was rolling with nausea and he just wanted to lie down for a little bit but he knew Dean wouldn't let him rest until he had finished his rant.

"C'mon Sam, what are you? A five-year-old? Do I have to hold your hand?" Dean continued.

"I said I was sorry!" Sam spoke up, snapping at Dean.

Dean faltered and saw the pained expression on Sam's face.

"Ah Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean said and stepped forward.

Sam didn't respond to Dean's apology but laid down on the bed, back to his brother and curled his legs up, "I just want to go to sleep, Dean."

Dean bit his lip and felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He had upset Sam. He knew it. Sam always shut down when Dean had really fucked up.

Dean sat on the bed beside Sam but his brother did not move. He wished Bobby was here. Bobby always knew what to say to make things better, even when they were kids; Uncle Bobby had been the buffer between the two Winchester boys.

Dean ran a hand over his face, feeling the beginnings of stubble and sighed. He stood and grabbed the car keys.

"I'm going to get us some lunch, okay? I'll be back soon," Dean didn't receive a response and thought that Sam must really be asleep.

SPN

Sam heard the motel room door shut behind his brother as he left. Sam stared at the wall across from him.

He didn't blame Dean for being angry at him. If he had been in Dean's position he would feel the same way- had felt the same way- but it hurt that his own brother didn't trust him. Although Sam knew that Dean would deny it and say otherwise, Sam knew his brother and knew that Dean did not trust him. Dean probably stopped trusting Sam after he nearly shot him in that warehouse.

Sam wondered exactly where everything had gone wrong. So many things had happened to them over the years, mostly bad things and Sam couldn't even begin to pinpoint the moment when they had crossed the point of no return.

Sam knew that feeling sorry for himself was useless. What was done was done. But he felt sorry for Dean. He felt bad that his brother had been dragged into every mess, either willingly or unwillingly, it didn't matter. Dean had had a choice. He could have run away in the beginning, saved himself from all the heartache that they had come to know, but he didn't. Dean refused to leave Sam's side and that more than anything made Sam feel guilty.

It would have been so easy for Dean to stay away from Sam- he didn't have to show up at Stanford. He could have said 'see ya' when Sam told him about his visions. Dean didn't have to make the demon deal when Jake had killed him. Dean could have let Sam continue his downward spiral with Ruby. He could have moved to Antarctica when Sam released Lucifer- but Dean hadn't done any of those things.

Even now, when Sam's grip on reality was sometimes tenuous, Dean didn't disappear into the wild blue yonder. The realization that Dean would probably stay with him until the very end broke Sam's heart.

Sam wondered if his tendency to hold on tightly to his brother prevented Dean from leaving.

Maybe he feels like he has to stay, Sam mused sadly and wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly what was going on. Dean hadn't left because Sam wouldn't let him.

SPN

Dean drove slowly to the diner he had spied when they first entered the city. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and took deep breaths. He was so damn worried about his brother. Sam was terribly stressed, it was obvious and Dean didn't quite know what to do.

To top things off as well, Dean had made his brother upset and now Sam probably wouldn't talk to him for the rest of the day.

Dean peered out angrily at the car in front of him- a bright yellow Hummer- and pounded the flat of his hand against the wheel, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Sam meant everything to Dean. Always had and Dean hated to see anything upset him, especially when it was Dean himself.

It had been ingrained in Dean long ago to look out for his younger brother, to always protect him, to put Sam before anything else and Dean had. For the most part.

It hurt to remember the times when Dean had not taken care of Sam like he should have, when he should have been there for him but wasn't.

Dean remembered the day Sam had told their father about getting a full-ride to Stanford. John had flipped shit. Sam had gone to Dean after the argument and asked him, almost begged him to go to California with him. Caught between choosing his brother and his father, Dean had chosen John.

Dean's throat tightened painfully as he saw in his mind's eye the disappointed look on Sam's face when he told him 'no'.

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes as he thought about how he'd acted toward Sam after he'd released Lucifer. It wasn't Sam's fault, how was he to know that killing Lilith would set the Devil free? Ruby had failed to mention that tiny bit of information and Dean knew how devastated Sam felt about trusting a demon and staring the Apocalypse. Dean had said some things to Sam that he regretted.

Dean felt terrible about the trust issues he had with Sam concerning demon blood. That topic was a conflicted one. He knew his lack of faith in Sam had deeply wounded his brother. At least now Sam's addiction to demon blood was the last thing on his mind.

Dean wondered how he had ever let Sam go in the first place. How had he even okay'd the idea of Sam jumping into Lucifer's Cage? That decision crushed Dean more than any other. He wished he could take it back- tell Sam he was talking crazy and forbid him to do something so suicidal- he wished he would have been smarter, more patient, told him they would find another way to defeat Lucifer. But no, Dean had told Sam he wasn't going to stop him if that was what he wanted. What Sam wanted? What had Dean been thinking? He had been too blind to see that it was tearing up Sam inside to make that decision and that jumping into that hole would ruin his younger brother.

A blaring horn jolted Dean out of his reverie and he drove forward, his fingers aching from their death-grip on the steering wheel.

Dean shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. He had made some terrible mistakes in the past, he had abandoned Sam when he had needed him most but now he was going to make it up to him any way he could. He would show Sam that he would never leave him alone again.

W

Dean stood perfectly still in his old, black FBI suit. The day had dawned warm and sunny, the complete opposite of what a funeral should be.

He stared across the open grave at the Sheriff. She wore a conservative black dress that could easily have passed for that 'little black dress' women always seem to have.

Dean felt his brother standing very close beside him, almost close enough to touch but he didn't really mind. Sam was still quiet from the day before and Dean didn't think his brother had forgiven him for being angry just yet.

The only other people in attendance were the minister from one of the churches, Norman Bell and his assistant from the funeral home and the pall bearers.

Dean held back a grimace as the minister began to recite Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters…"

Instead of listening, Dean looked at the meager funeral dressings- the plain pine coffin, the small, red granite gravestone carved with only Bobby's name and the dates of his birth and death and, of course the simple, yet powerful Latin phrase. There were no flowers, no professional mourners, and no piles of relatives to talk in hushed voices about what a great man the deceased had been.

Dean had been to many burials over the years, for fellow hunters mostly, or the occasional monster victim, but the only other 'funeral' funeral he had ever been to was the one for his own mother.

Dean remembered standing beside his father, his small hand held tightly in John's large one, on the fifth of November, 1983. He recalled watching the empty coffin being lowered into the grave- there had been no remains left to bury after the fire- and trying to wrap his four-year old mind around the fact that his mother would not be coming back. Dean remembered it had snowed that day- large wet flakes that coated the grass like a white blanket and drifted on the cool breeze. Sam hadn't been there. John had left him in the care of relatives. He had been far too young to go to the funeral.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me…" Dean caught the minister's words again as he slipped out of the memory of Mary's funeral.

SPN

Sam stared into the grave that very shortly would be the final resting place of Robert 'Bobby' Singer: friend, uncle, father and fellow hunter.

Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants and he smiled sadly when the fingers of his right hand brushed against the piece of paper that he was never without these days.

It didn't seem to matter all that much just what the numbers meant so much as that they were the last link to Bobby. It might have seemed stupid but Sam couldn't bear to throw that little scrap of paper out because it contained the final message of one of their greatest allies.

"Feel like jumping in?" A soft voice beside Sam asked and the young man's posture stiffened.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Lucifer peering over the edge of the grave, kicking a small rock into the rectangular hole with the toe of his shoe.

Taking his hands from his pockets, Sam pressed down hard on his bandaged palm.

Not real, you're not real; Sam thought frantically and stared straight ahead of himself, at Sheriff Jody Mills.

He heard Lucifer chuckle behind him, "And then there were two."

Sam pressed down harder with his thumb on his palm. He felt the stitches give way and blood seep into the gauze.

"Ever read Of Mice and Men, Sam?" Lucifer asked and Sam doesn't look at him.

Don't answer him, Sam thought, that's what he wants. Ignore him.

"You know how that ends, right?" Lucifer continued and Sam could hear the malicious glee in his voice because he knew that Sam had read that book and he knew Sam remembered the tragic finale. Sam knew what Lucifer was insinuating.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever," The minister finished the prayer.

Lucifer scoffed and Sam finally looked at him.

"We know better, eh Sammy?" The Devil winked knowingly and Sam shuddered, leaning unconsciously into his brother.

SPN

"Hey! What's wrong?" Dean had felt his brother go rigid against him a few minutes before and now Sam was practically falling against him.

The minister paused and looked curiously at the two brothers.

Dean gripped Sam's upper arms and steadied his brother.

"Is he alright?" Norman Bell asked because young John Smith looked like he was about to faint.

Dean's hold on Sam tightened and Jody peered worriedly at the boys from across the grave.

Dean saw that Sam looked nearly panicked and knew he needed to get his brother out of there.

"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean whispered, "We're leaving."

Dean kept a hold of one of Sam's arms and guided him away from the gravesite, muttering to him comfortingly as they made their slow progress.

Sheriff Mills stepped around the open grave carefully, and ran over to the Winchesters, regardless of her high heels.

"Where are you going?" she asked as she caught up with the boys and fell in step beside Dean.

The minister, the funeral director's assistant, and the pall bearers stood where they were. They were not unused to seeing grieving family members leave funerals in such a manner. Norman Bell cleared his throat and followed the trio, intent on knowing if they were going to come back and finish the service or not.

Sam was shaking his head, "He's not leaving, Dean."

"It's okay Sammy," Dean said as he led his distraught brother to the car. Dean saw that Sam kept checking over his shoulder and although he was aware that Bell was following them, he doubted that was who Sam was watching.

Dean unlocked the passenger side door and had Sam sit down. His brother leaned against the backrest, his legs splayed out before him and his breathing fast-paced and shallow.

"Just take deep breaths Sammy. He can't hurt you, right? He's not real and he cannot hurt you," Dean crouched down before his brother and held his bandaged hand.

Dean felt dampness on the gauze and turned Sam's hand over- red blood had stained the white bandages- and sighed deeply, squeezing his brother's fingers gently.

Jody said nothing but hovered in a protective, mother-hen kind of way around both boys. It was obvious that Sam was distressed and Dean was very worried about him.

"Can we continue with the funeral?" Norman asked once he came within earshot of the three.

"Back off! Can't you see he's having some trouble?" Sheriff Mills snapped and Norman stopped his progress toward them and pursed his lips.

"Should I call an ambulance? Is he having a panic attack? You know, they are not uncommon in my business-" Norman began but Jody turned away and wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Dean? Can we leave now?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, "We'll go back to the motel and pack up."

Dean looked up at Jody apologetically.

"Go on, Dean," she waved a hand at him, "Sam doesn't need to be here right now."

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Sam apologized and drew his legs into the car.

Jody shook her head. The boys had nothing to be sorry about. Whatever was going on with them was serious and she didn't want to cause them any more pain by making them think they needed to be there.

Dean nodded to the Sheriff and went around to the driver's side and slipped in.

Jody waited until the boys were well on their way out of the cemetery before turning her attention to Norman Bell.

"Are you coming or not?" she asked as she strode past the funeral director, heading back to coffin and the grave to finish the service.

Norman stood still, looking after the two brothers for a moment and then followed the Sheriff back to the site and rearranged his expression into one of perfect solemnity while Mr. Singer was laid to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's "Requiem".


	8. Hurt

Sam sat down low in the passenger seat, his knees against the dashboard. He barely had a grip on his panic.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," He heard Dean encourage from beside him.

"It will never be okay again Sam. This is it- the be all and end all," Lucifer countered from the backseat.

Sam groaned in misery and Dean pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal.

"You stay with me, Sam," Dean ordered.

He watched Sam jam his thumb against the bloodied gauze on his left palm. Dean was sure that the blood was running down his brother's arm by then.

The motel came into view at the end of the street and Dean sped up.

"C'mon you piece of shit Camero," he muttered angrily and glanced at his brother again.

Sam's posture had changed from one of panic to one of relief. He slumped where he sat, holding his bandaged hand loosely, and his back was no longer rigid.

"Is he gone?" Dean ventured.

Sam nodded and brushed some bangs off his forehead.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and parked in front of their motel room. He got out of the car and slammed the door closed.

Sam unfolded himself carefully from his position and looked to his brother. His hand was sending bursts of pain all the way to the tips of his fingers but he was glad that he had made Lucifer leave again.

"Okay Sammy, here's how it's gonna go: I'll take a look at your hand, once that's done we can pack our shit and get out of here," Dean instructed and unlocked the room door.

The brother's stepped inside the tiny motel room and Dean had Sam sit down at the tiny table in the corner of the room while he took a look at the wound.

Dean carefully peeled the blood-soaked gauze away from the palm of Sam's hand and grimaced at the sight. A number of the stitches had broken and the wound looked red and puffy around the edges.

At the rate Sam's going, this cut is never going to heal; Dean thought as he wiped out the wound with antiseptic and prepared to take out the stitches so he could put new ones in.

Dean spoke to his brother, not really talking about anything in particular, just trying to keep him focused on something else rather than Dean's amateur sewing job.

Dean looked at his brother, saw how tired Sam looked- he had dark circles under eyes that were beginning to look sunken, stress lines marred his features- and hoped that he could get some rest while they drove back.

Never should have come back here, Dean thought, I shouldn't have brought Sam along.

"All done, Sammy," Dean said as he taped a fresh gauze bandage onto Sam's palm.

Sam nodded, flexed his hand, "Thanks, Dean."

His brother shrugged, "It's my job to take care of you."

Sam scowled good-naturedly and stood. His legs wobbled slightly but he could ignore that. The boys packed whatever they had left out- their civilian clothes of jeans and shirtsleeves, their toiletries- before Dean turned to his brother, locking the door to the room after himself.

"What do you say we blow this Popsicle stand?" Dean said with a cocky grin.

Sam just shook his head, a wan smile on his lips.

Once Dean made sure his brother was comfortably in the car, he went across to the driver's side and slid into the seat.

The engine roared to life, the muffler grumbling in protest, and Dean maneuvered slowly through the parking lot to leave the car idle just before the motel's front doors.

"Be right back," Dean promised his brother, "I mean it, I'm coming right back."

Sam nodded, "Just check us out."

He turned on the radio as Dean closed the door, room keys in hand, and headed inside to the front desk.

Music filled the old car- the familiar sound of the organ made Sam smile as Procol Harem began to sing 'Whiter Shade of Pale'.

Sam jumped involuntarily as the driver's side door opened and his brother sat down.

"Let's roll, Sammy," Dean said and cranked up the music.

W

Seven hours later Dean pulled into the parking lot of a truck-stop. Sam was fast asleep, curled up against the passenger side door.

Dean smiled at his brother and then got out of the car, locking it before heading toward the all-night diner. It was a little past midnight and Dean had no intention of stopping until he reached Whitefish. He wanted to get Sam back to a semblance of a home, even if it meant Rufus' old cabin in the woods.

Dean put a couple of dollars into the soda machine that stood humming quietly outside the diner and got himself a Pepsi.

He opened the drink and contemplated having a snack from the diner- a sandwich or something to tide him over until the morning- but decided it would be best to keep going.

Dean walked back to the car and unlocked the door. He slipped inside and saw that Sam was awake and peering around in a slightly confused way.

"Sam? You okay?" Dean asked and guzzled down the last of the soda before tossing the can into the back seat- he'd clean up the car when they got back to Montana.

Sam nodded and brushed a hand over his face, "It's just that… for a minute there I thought…"

Dean frowned slightly and reached out to grip his brother's shoulder, "You stay with me, Sammy."

"I will," Sam nodded, "I am."

With one more concerned glance at his brother, Dean started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, not at all looking forward to the roughly thirteen more hours to Whitefish.

W

One o'clock in the afternoon. It was one on the dot when Dean pulled the car into the long dirt driveway that led to the cabin.

He sighed with relief and looked to his brother. Sam was looking out the windshield with a morose expression on his face.

"Cheer up, Sammy," Dean said, "We finally made it."

Sam turned to his brother, "That's just it Dean. How can we be happy? I mean, it didn't feel so real before but now that Bobby's buried…"

Dean sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"Bobby died a hunter, Sam. He died just like Dad died, like Ellen and Jo died. Bobby died doing what was right… He died a warrior, he went down fighting. He never gave up, ya know?" Dean said after a long pause.

Sam nodded sadly, "It's just hard to believe that everyone's gone."

Dean bit his cheek and blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes, hoping Sam wouldn't see. But Sam wasn't looking at him. Sam was watching the trees slip past the car as it bounced down the rutted road.

"I'm not gone, Sammy," Dean whispered so quietly he didn't think Sam even heard him.

Dean parked the car and both boys remained where they were for a few minutes listening to the tick of cooling metal and the chirp and squeak of birds in the surrounding forest.

Dean sighed and opened his door and stepped outside.

He breathed deeply and was glad that Rufus had a cabin in the boondocks and not some apartment in a crowded, noisy city.

"Hey Sam? You coming out or are you gonna sit in there all day?" Dean asked and peered down at his brother.

"Sam?" Dean asked. His brother was looking anywhere but at him, "Sammy? You hear me?"

Dean walked around to the other side of the car and before he could open the door, Sam locked it.

Shit, Dean thought and tapped lightly on the glass.

"Sammy, it's okay man. Come out. Let's go inside and have some lunch. I'm starving," Dean cajoled but his brother just shook his head.

Dean saw the expression on Sam's face and his stomach dropped down to his feet.

"It's okay, Sammy, really. Nothing's going to hurt you," he tried and Sam ignored him. He watched as his brother warily leaned across the seat to grab the handle of the driver's side door and slam it shut.

"Sam, c'mon, we're at Rufus' cabin. Remember? In Whitefish? You remember Rufus, right?" Dean spoke to his brother through the glass.

Dean watched as Sam scrunched down far in the seat and put his hands over his ears.

Anger swelled up in Dean's chest and he hit the window with the flat of his palm.

"Sam. Get out of the car. Right now," he demanded in a tone their father had often used when they were kids and Sam had been feeling particularly rebellious.

His brother shook his shaggy head and closed his eyes.

Leave him alone, Dean thought, he'll come around on his own. Just give him a minute.

He took a deep breath and walked away from the car without looking back. He didn't even bother getting the duffel bags from the trunk in case he freaked Sam out even more.

"I'll give him twenty minutes… a half-hour and if he hasn't moved by then… I'll make him," Dean muttered to himself as he walked up to the porch and unlocked the front door of the cabin.

Once inside, Dean forced himself to relax. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took a long drink. It was going to be okay. Sam was going to be okay. He was going to be okay.

Dean leaned against the counter for a moment and turned and peered out the window above the sink. He could see the car clearly but he couldn't see Sam.

He must still be squished down in the bottom; Dean thought and took another drink of beer. Dean rubbed a hand over his chin, tired.

SPN

Sam wished Dean would come back. Lucifer was sitting in the driver's seat of the old car, watching him like a cat does a mouse.

Sam was sitting as far away from the Devil as possible, his tall frame squashed against the passenger door, the handle digging into his side uncomfortably.

"Wanna go for a ride?" Lucifer asked, forearms lying casually across the top of the steering wheel.

"You're not real," Sam answered, "You're not really here."

Lucifer chuckled as though Sam was an endearing, though hopelessly stupid child.

"Let me out," Sam said. He had foolishly locked the doors, thinking he would be able to keep the Devil out but all he had done was trap himself inside the vehicle with Lucifer.

"No Sam, not until we've had a little chat," the Devil leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"Go away!" Sam cried and pushed on the door handle that refused to budge.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow as he watched Sam.

Sam pressed his thumb down on his left palm, "You're not real. You're just a hallucination."

"Sure about that?" Lucifer asked and leaned toward Sam, "If I'm all in your head, than why am I still here? Why don't I just vanish like you want me to, hm?"

Sam faltered, "Because… I… I can't forget. What happened to me was so… traumatic that my mind can't cope with it and that's why I'm seeing you. I can't control my subconscious mind!"

Lucifer nodded, "That sounds real good, Sammy. You almost had me convinced for a moment."

Sam pressed down harder on his palm, hoping the pain would ground him and Lucifer would leave like he always did before.

"Is that all your college education gets you? A way to rationalize all this away?" Lucifer spread his arms wide as though emphasizing the situation.

"I'll tell you what I know, Sam. I won't go away because you are wrong. No matter how many times you tell yourself that you're Topside again it won't change anything," Lucifer grinned wolfishly.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, "The wall fell. I remember what happened to me… Dean told me you weren't real. He told me so."

Lucifer chuckled, "You are adorable."

Sam's eyes widened in fear.

"You're reasonably intelligent," Lucifer continued, "And I'm sure you can figure out that you are not Topside. You are still in Hell. With me."

"No," Sam gasped as panic rose within him, "You're lying, you have to be lying."

"Look at me and tell me if I am lying to you," Lucifer said. His blue eyes were steady and unblinking.

"But Dean told me I was back! I know I'm back!" Sam argued.

"Ah, but how can you prove it?" Lucifer asked with a wicked smile.

Sam thought about all that had happened. He thought about everything that had happened over the past few months and refused to believe that none of it had been real.

Sam's expression grew determined and he glared at the Devil.

"I'm not that stupid! I know what's real and what isn't!" he snapped. Lucifer didn't look at all troubled by the pronouncement.

Lucifer put his index finger to his lips, "Well then, this should be interesting."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Sam cried and dug his thumb into his palm, gasping at the pain.

Tears sprang into Sam's eyes and sweat beaded on his brow. His head ached and he found himself doubting his brother's words.

If Sam was Topside again and Lucifer was just a hallucination, shouldn't he easily be sent away when Sam pressed down on his palm, like Dean had done in the warehouse? It should work every time, shouldn't it? But it only seemed to be getting harder and harder to drive Lucifer away and that terrified Sam.

Sam choked down the sob that was fighting to escape. He tore the bandage off his hand and dug his thumb deep into the wound watching as crimson blood seeped out and down his arm to stain the sleeve of his shirt.

With a quick glance toward the driver's seat, Sam saw that Lucifer had vanished and he slumped forward gratefully.

Sam looked through the windows and felt his tears overflow. He was so confused. He didn't really know what was real any more.

Perhaps this was some new game Lucifer had devised and had been all along. Perhaps Sam was still in Hell.

"No," Sam moaned and shuddered at the thought. Surely soon the illusion would be swept away and he'd find himself back in Hell.

Sam looked down at his hands, unaware that he was still pressing his thumb deeply into the wound.

This feels real, Sam thought, I can feel this and I know Dean sewed the cut up… twice now. I know because Dean is real and this car is real and this cabin is real.

I just need to… I just need a… Sam frowned. He didn't know exactly what he needed. He gripped his hair in his hands, and bent forward so that his head was almost between his knees.

SPN

Dean looked up from his work and frowned deeply- this was the second time in mere hours that he had to repair Sam's wounded hand.

He had finally gone out to see if Sam was okay immediately after he'd finished his beer. He had found Sam crouched in the car, his hands twisted in his hair and his eyes scrunched closed.

After coaxing his brother inside, Dean had gotten Sam some water and set to work sewing the wound back together.

"Sam, if you keep opening this up it'll get infected," Dean said, "And you're gonna cause some serious damage to your hand."

Sam nodded and lowered his head, "He wouldn't leave again. I tried to make him go away but he wouldn't. He said… he said that I wasn't free, Dean. He said I was still in Hell."

Sam's eyes were red-rimmed and they welled up with tears. Dean felt his heart clench in sympathy.

"Sam, we both know that you did come back. We both know that you are Topside and that Old Mr. Fire and Brimstone is just a hallucination," Dean assured his brother.

Dean put a hand under Sam's chin and forced his brother's head up, "Look at me, Sammy."

Sam obeyed and gulped.

"Listen to me Sam and listen well. Lucifer and whatever else your 'hell-shocked' mind conjures up are not real. I told you before they ain't real. I am real, Sam. I am real and I am right here and I am not going to let anything happen to you."

Sam nodded, feeling a little more heartened by Dean's words. Lucifer could never make any illusion so much like Dean as his brother was right then.

"I'm not going to lose you again, Sam," Dean said and finished sewing the wound.

He didn't put a bandage down because he wanted Sam to take a shower and it would be easier without the gauze.

"I'm gonna make us something to eat," Dean told him as Sam stood.

As Sam made his way upstairs he looked down at his left palm and ran a finger over the stitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a Nine Inch Nails and Johnny Cash song.


	9. The Sufferer And The Witness

Dean sat stiffly on a kitchen chair, a bottle of beer sitting untouched on the table before him. He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and scratched the back of his head.

Dean took a swig of his beer and grimaced- he had waited too long and it had gone warm- and set the bottle down, glaring at it.

He sighed. Dean thought about his brother, laying upstairs in his bed but so far away from him.

Sam had been having more frequent hallucinations after they had arrived back in Whitefish and nothing Dean did could snap Sam out of them.

Dean had become a pro in predicting when a hallucination was about to start- his brother's gaze would drift away from him or become distant, his pupils grow so large that only a thin ring of green iris could be seen. Sam's face would become expressionless in the instant before the terror began- and Dean knew that his detection abilities were nothing to be proud of.

Sam had tried to fight them, Dean could tell but slowly he saw his brother grow weaker and give in.

Tears filled Dean's eyes and threatened to overflow as he thought of his younger brother. He had been fine for months. Months! But now he was drowning and Dean was sure it had been Bobby's death which was the straw that finally broke the camel's back.

Sam wasn't Sam anymore. He was growing increasingly listless and he barely ate or drank anything. Dean worried that Sam was slowly starving to death.

But the despondency wasn't the worst of it, Dean decided. The worst had to be the odd mood-swings. They often occurred after a hallucination and Sam would either be extremely clingy, begging Dean not to leave him, never letting his brother form his sight for hours afterwards as though Dean would walk out on him or Sam would become hostile, his expression one of rage only just contained. Dean was sure he had seen that angry, albeit aloof look on his brother's face before- Dean was sure that it was the very look that his brother wore when he had been soulless. He hated that mood shift most all.

Dean felt useless. He couldn't help his brother. All he could do was watch and wait and make sure he was there for Sam when he came out of whatever hallucination he'd been trapped in.

Dean gulped down the rest of the warm alcohol and set the bottle in the recycling bin under the sink. He grabbed a box of soda crackers from the pantry and trudged upstairs.

Sam's door was open and Dean saw his brother was lying on his side, the bed sheets crumpled and twisted around his body.

"Sam?" Dean whispered so as not to startle his brother.

Dean entered the room and moved around the side of the bed so he could face his brother. Sam's eyes were open but they were glazed and looked through Dean rather than at him. Dean crouched down so he was eye-level with his brother. Sam was still there- Dean knew he wasn't hallucinating- but continued to stare unblinking as if his brother was invisible.

The episodes were emotionally and physically exhausting and drained both Winchesters.

"I brought you some crackers," Dean said and shook the box a little for emphasis.

"You feel up to eating a bit?" he continued hopefully.

Sam nodded nearly imperceptibly and slowly sat up.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and opened the box and tore apart the plastic wrapping.

He didn't like how little his brother ate, not nearly enough to support him surely but Dean couldn't make his brother eat - Sam would shut down if he tried.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make 'im drink, Dean thought miserably.

Dean held the box out to Sam who took a cracker and munched it as though he could have cared less about what it was.

"Feeling any better?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

"Mm… tired," he muttered and took another cracker.

That had become Sam's response every time Dean asked him 'how are you feeling' or 'are you okay'.

"How about you? Did you sleep last night?" Sam asked; surprising Dean because his brother seemed so caught up in his own world to notice him, much less anything else in his surroundings.

"Got a few hours after you passed out," Dean lied. He hadn't slept a wink. It had been a bad night and even after Sam had finally fallen asleep out of exhaustion Dean didn't dare close his eyes.

Sam lowered his head. His shoulders sagged with lassitude.

"You thirsty? I'll go get you something," Dean suggested and stood, taking the crackers with him, knowing that Sam was not going to eat anymore.

Dean made his way downstairs, throwing the crackers carelessly onto the kitchen table as he entered.

He threw open the refrigerator door and pulled out a pitcher of grape juice. Dean grabbed a mug and poured some juice in before riffling through the drawers and pulling out a packet of sleeping pills. Dean frowned as he crushed a couple of the white pills with a spoon and tipped the powder into the grape juice before stirring the mixture together so that the liquid was clear again.

Dean hated giving the pills to his brother but at least they afforded Sam a few hours of deep, restful sleep with no nightmares. It also gave Dean the chance to go to the local bars and hustle pool or play some rounds of poker and get much needed cash in his wallet. He didn't want to go back to McDougal's, he was sure the old man wouldn't take him back now anyway but Dean didn't see any use in complaining about it.

Dean brought the drink up to Sam to find his brother sitting against the bed's headrest, his eyes half-closed and lines of pain and fatigue etched into his face.

"Hey Sammy, got you some juice," Dean said softly and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.

Sam opened his eyes wider and gave his brother a slight smile.

"Can't drink it," Sam said and lowered his gaze.

"C'mon Sammy, just a couple of sips?" Dean plied.

"Can I have water?" Sam asked.

"You hardly eat anything," Dean persisted, "At least drink something good for you."

Sam grimaced slightly, "I thought water was good for me."

"You know what I mean," Dean held the mug out, not willing to give in.

Sam sighed and Dean knew he'd won. His brother took the mug from him and Dean was shocked when Sam's fingers brushed his because they were ice cold.

"You warm enough?" Dean asked and half-stood, intending to get a blanket or a sweater.

Sam nodded, lifting the mug to his mouth and took a small drink of the juice.

Dean stood down and waited until Sam had drunk his fill of the juice. He took the mug back from his brother and set it on the nightstand. Like a parent, Dean unknotted the blankets and held them out so his younger brother could sleep underneath them.

He knew Sam was tired, he could see it in his brother's expression and Sam, who would normally refuse to be babied, allowed Dean's mothering simply because he was too weary to protest and it made Dean feel better.

Sam mumbled his thanks as he lay down and Dean pulled the covers halfway up his chest.

Dean stood and made sure Sam was asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing light, before grabbing a wool blanket from the linen closet and spreading it over his younger brother, hoping to give him much needed warmth.

He gathered up the mug and headed back downstairs, trying to decide if he should go out at all or just relax and watch some mindless TV.

Dean peered into his wallet, counted the bills and chose to stay at the cabin. He could always head out the next day.

He sighed though; today had been a fairly good day, so far Sam had had no hallucinations and was just tired but tomorrow was a new day and he had no idea what it would bring.

Dean knocked on the wooden kitchen doorframe, praying that Sam would sleep for at least two or three hours and eat something more substantial upon waking. He hoped that Sam would not have any visions of Lucifer or Hell because as much as they frightened him, they scared the shit out of Dean as well.

Dean poured the leftover grape juice into the sink, more than half of it remained in the mug but Dean tried not to think about that.

Sam didn't know about the sleeping-aid, Dean had not told him and didn't plan to tell him as long as it helped his brother rest.

Dean felt badly for giving his brother the pills without his knowledge, he hated lying to Sam but he could not think of any way out of it.

At least like this we both get some rest, Dean convinced himself that he was doing a good thing for Sam.

Dean decided that since he was in the kitchen he might as well make himself lunch. He'd be in no shape to help Sam if he neglected to eat.

Dean pulled a minute steak and a carton of eggs from the fridge.

He cut open the cellophane wrapper on the steak and pulled a frying pan from the oven. Dean warmed the pan, put the meat in and waited for it to brown.

He leaned against the counter, white knuckles gripping its edge and the muscles in his arms straining as though he was attempting to break the construction of wood-covered laminate.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face with his hand.

"God, I wish you were here, Bobby," Dean muttered as he took a fork from the drawer and turned over the steak, breathing the scent of cooking beef.

"You'd know what to do, wouldn't you?" Dean continued his one-sided his conversation as he picked a beer from the fridge and opened it.

Even if Bobby couldn't help, he'd be able to stay with Sam. Of course, Dean thought furiously, if Bobby was still here than Sam wouldn't be like this.

Dean peered out the kitchen window. The day was bright and sunny, warm. Not that he cared much.

Should coax Sam out there, Dean mused, maybe some fresh air would do him good.

SPN

Sam awoke slowly, his eyes felt heavy and sleep tempted him to return to its warm embrace. Sam's head ached and his eyes throbbed in their sockets. There would be no more sleep for him.

He sat up, leaning his back against the bed's headrest and raised a shaking hand to his hair to brush the sweaty bangs off his brow.

Sam swung his legs off the mattress and set his feet on the worn, woven rug beside the bed. Like an old man, Sam stood on unsure legs, one hand against the wall for support.

He trembled with weakness and fear. Weakness from the meager amount of food he would eat and fear of what vision might greet him.

"Dean?" Sam called softly, his voice slightly rough from disuse.

Sam crept to the doorway and peered into the hall. He did not see his brother. Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His stomach twinged with hunger but nausea pushed all thoughts of food from Sam's mind.

Sam took cautious steps into the corridor and headed toward the stairs. He listened for the sound of the radio or television but all was silent below.

Sam reached out and gripped the railing. Descending the steps should not be such a Herculean task but they seemed to buck and dip before his eyes.

Sam stuck one foot out and found no purchase. He grabbed the railing tightly for fear of falling down the stairs. His breathing became rapid and he crouched down. The stairs continued to sway crazily and he felt bile rise in his throat.

Sam clenched his eyes shut until the dizziness faded and the stairs no longer moved when he opened his eyes.

Warily, Sam climbed down the steps and breathed a sigh of relief when his feet touched the wooden boards that made up the floor of the main part of the cabin.

The television in the living room was turned off and Dean was not in the kitchen.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking anxiously for his other brother.

Sam received no answer and all he could think was that Dean had left, that Dean had grown tired of taking care of him and had gone away.

"No, no, no," Sam whispered and his heart began to pound in his chest.

He couldn't believe he was alone. He couldn't believe his brother had abandoned him.

Sam had tried to handle it, he had, but maybe Dean had seen just how weak he really was and couldn't take it anymore.

Sam sucked in a watery breath. His eyes stung.

What was he going to do all by himself? What if Lucifer came back?

Sam's limbs began to tremble at the thought.

"Dean! Dean! Where are you?" he called out and ran to the front door, opening the heavy wooden interior one and peering nervously through the screen.

Dean wasn't out there. He was gone and he was never coming back.

Sam stumbled away from the door, arms wrapped protectively around his middle to sit on the bottom step.

Sam grabbed his hair in his hands. Dean was finally gone. He was finally alone.

He jerked up when the door slammed open and shut.

"Sam!" he could have leapt with joy upon hearing that voice.

Dean rushed over to his brother.

"Are you okay? Did you fall down the stairs?" Dean started running his hands over Sam's arms, back, legs, to check for injuries.

Sam shook his head. He had forgotten he had not been down on the main floor for a number of days.

"I woke up and… and I thought… you were gone," Sam stammered, burying his face unabashedly into his brother's shoulder.

Dean gripped Sam's shoulders gently and held him back so he could see his face, "Hey, I'm not going anywhere Sammy. I've told ya before and I'll tell ya again."

Dean's heart clenched when he saw the look of pure relief and gratitude on his brother's face. He smiled at the look of love in his brother's eyes.

"Sorry I scared you," Dean apologized. He hadn't thought Sam would wake up so soon- kid had only been asleep for an hour and a half- but he supposed he should have expected it due to the amount of grape juice that had remained in the mug when Sam had finished with it.

"I was just in the garage," Dean explained, "I just wanted to see the old girl again."

Old girl? Sam thought, confused for a moment and then it dawned on him- the Impala.

"I was thinking; if you're feeling up to it… want to go for a little drive?" Dean asked.

"But the Impala's kind of conspicuous," Sam said although the idea of being inside the beloved car again was very tempting.

"We'll only go up the road and back," Dean promised and stood, reaching a hand down to help his brother up.

Sam smiled and Dean's heart just about melted. This was the liveliest Sam had been in days.

The brothers stepped outside, Dean taking a deep breath and grinning at the sunshine slanting through the green-leafed trees. The tension left Sam's shoulders and he held himself a little taller, revived by warm breeze.

Dean kept a hand on his brother's arm as they walked to the Impala. Dean had given the car a once over and washed her so that her black hide shone and the silver hubcaps sparkled.

He placed a hand on the Impala's hood and patted it as though she were a trusty horse or a faithful dog.

"Couldn't bear to let her gather dust in the garage," Dean said, more to himself than his brother.

"She's beautiful, Dean," Sam said and ran a hand over the side of the Impala until it rested on the door handle.

Sam opened the door and paused a minute before getting inside. He peered at his brother. Dean looked so happy and that troubled Sam. He wasn't sure how long that happiness would last.

Sam looked away from his brother, toward the surrounding forest and sighed. He could already feel the pull and he wished he had more time. Dean wouldn't understand but Sam could almost feel Hell tugging at him, beckoning to him, eager to sink its claws into him again.

"Sam?" the sound of Dean's voice roused him from his dark thoughts.

Dean motioned that he should get in the car and Sam complied. His brother slid into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

Dean leaned back against the Impala's leather seat with a contented sigh.

"I've missed ya, baby," he muttered and looked at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam's face was turned away from him, his attention on the scene outside of the old wooden hunting cabin surrounded by green, jovial foliage.

Dean gulped and put the Impala in drive and slowly began rolling down the dirt road that would wind through the trees until it reached the paved street that led to the town of Whitefish, only miles away.

Dean turned on the radio to alleviate the silence and smiled when Boston's 'More Than a Feeling' came on.

Sam's green-eyed gaze turned to his brother and Dean cursed himself for not being able to do more to help his younger sibling.

Although Dean could tell Sam was trying to appear happy, he could see the sadness and pain clearly in his eyes, in his haggard face, in his hunched posture.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly and let out a deep breath. He turned down the music and spoke instead.

"Remember when I taught you to drive this car?" he asked and Sam nodded with a slight grimace at the memory.

"Thought I was going to go off the road," Sam said softly.

Dean chuckled, "Nah, you did great."

"Dad was pissed though," Sam continued, his tone light and contented.

Dean snorted laughter, "Only 'cause you could barely see over the dashboard… even with two phonebooks under ya!"

Sam chuckled at the memory of sitting on the big yellow books while his brother, not even old enough to drive himself, taught him how to maneuver the Impala out of the motel's parking lot and down the street to an Open 24/7 diner.

John had been gone on a hunt with Bobby, reluctantly leaving the Impala in case of emergencies but of course, his two young sons couldn't help but be curious about driving the car- Dean only had a rudimentary lesson- and it had ended up with Sam in the driver's seat, tiny hands gripping the steering wheel, green eyes peeping over the dash and a big grin on his face.

The Impala hadn't been damaged at all and no one had seen the two boys (or if they had, they simply hadn't cared) and the only way John had found out at all was an overexcited Sammy, telling him proudly that he had driven the car.

John had not let Sam touch the Impala again until he was fourteen, still too young by law to drive, but the father and his eldest son needed someone to drive in case they got the short end of the stick on a hunt.

John himself had insisted on teaching Sam and after a lot of yelling and slammed doors and not moving the car forward an inch, Dean had taken over, much to Sam's relief and John's irritation.

Dean smiled kindly at his brother and felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in a long time. The peace he was feeling wouldn't last, he knew, but he could revel in it while it did and remember that same feeling when things got bad again. Dean hoped that Sam was feeling the same way and prayed that he had the strength to do what was needed to protect his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter title comes from a Rise Against song.


	10. The Unnamed Feeling

"Anything else I can get you, hon?" the female bartender asked Dean.

Dean shook his head and smiled, tipping his bottle of beer in a kind of salute, "Got everything I need."

The bartender nodded, "Just let me know if you want another."

Dean watched as she strode down to the other end of the bar and he turned to look out at the interior of the pub.

It was actually quite busy, mostly college kids on vacation but there were also a few regulars dispersed among the crowds.

Dean allowed himself to relax a little bit. Elbows on the polished wooden bar, beer in hand, he took a deep breath as he watched the other patrons with mild interest.

Dean had only been out for a couple of hours but they had been productive- he currently had three hundred dollars in his wallet- thanks to rich snobby Princeton boys who didn't know how to play pool or poker.

Should get back to Sam soon, he thought and gulped down some of his beer.

Dean's phone vibrated and trilled 'Smoke on the Water' in his pocket and he fished it out, groaning when he saw it was Sheriff Jody Mills.

The Sheriff had called a few weeks before, first phoning Bobby's cell and then later Dean's, asking how the boys were holding up. Dean had lied and said that they were fine. Jody had told Dean about the conclusion of Bobby's funeral- something which he could care less about- but Dean had pretended to be interested. The Sheriff had suggested coming over to see them, asking if there was anything she could do. Dean had told Jody that there was no need; he didn't want her to drive all the way out to Whitefish for nothing.

. Dean had been polite though, he had indulged the Sheriff and all the while he had been thinking of Sam. His brother had just started having hallucinations and Dean was worried for him. Now though, he was worried that the Sheriff would just show up on their doorstep. That would be all Dean needed.

Guzzling down the rest of his beer, Dean stood and set some money on the bar.

"Leaving so soon?" the bartender had wandered over and actually looked sad to see Dean go.

"Sorry Sweetheart," Dean apologized and held his phone up to his ear, "Hey Jody! How're you doing?"

"I'm good Dean," Sheriff Mills said, "What about you? And Sam?"

"We're peachy," Dean maneuvered his way between groups of college students, heading toward the exit.

The sun shone down brightly and Dean squinted. He held the phone closer to his ear as he made his way slowly to the car.

"Dean, you sound tired," Jody was saying, "Are you sure you're alright."

"Uh yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," Dean assured her.

"Mmmhmm," Jody answered, sounding unimpressed.

"Look, I know you're just worried about us but I told you- we take care of ourselves," Dean insisted.

Dean liked the Sheriff, sure he did, but when it came to Sammy he trusted Jody as far as he could throw her.

He feared that if Jody did come to the cabin and Sam had a hallucination while she was there, bad things would happen.

"Okay, keep your secrets," Jody said in an amused tone.

"Talk to you later," Dean said and ended the call.

He knew that the Sheriff only had good intentions and although she might not know everything about him and Sam, Dean was sure she would not do anything that would harm either of them.

Dean made of point of not thinking about anything at all as he unlocked the car door and slid into the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the vehicle rumbled to life.

He jumped when his phone vibrated again and this time he ignored it.

"Don't wanna talk to ya," Dean muttered and turned on the radio instead.

He smiled as R.E.M.'s 'Man on the Moon' began to play.

W

Dean swallowed thickly and braced himself, unlocking the front door of the cabin. He stepped inside and looked around. All was quiet.

Dean walked deeper into the house and peered over the back of the couch- Sam was curled up under about three blankets- and he smiled. His brother was still sleeping.

Dean made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He leaned against the counter and peered into the living room.

Dean stifled a yawn and hoped that it would be a good night and Sam wouldn't have many nightmares. He knew he needed sleep but he couldn't ignore his brother when he cried out in the middle of the night, confused and terrified.

Dean drank his beer quickly and set the empty bottle on the counter. He should try and get Sam to eat something when he woke up.

Dean went back to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of fruit punch. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with the pinkish-red juice. Dean stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, holding the glass, unsure of just what to feed his brother.

Setting the glass of punch on the counter, Dean went to the pantry and found a bottle of Ensure. He had bought a six-pack of the vitamin-rich supplement drink a week ago and Sam didn't seem to mind the stuff so Dean had planned on giving some to his brother whenever he refused regular food.

Dean frowned though; Sam had to actually eat something. He settled for making a peanut butter and jam sandwich for the kid.

He placed the glass of punch back into the fridge to keep it cool, plastic-wrapped the sandwich and left the Ensure on the table before making his way out to the living room and settling down on the chair near the couch.

SPN

Sam woke slowly. He blinked a few times and reached up to rub at his gritty-feeling eyes. He shrugged the blankets off his shoulders and peered around, owlishly.

He froze when he saw Dean. At least, Sam hoped it was Dean because the alternative terrified him.

"Thought you were gonna sleep all day," the might-be-Dean said.

Sam nodded, still feeling tired and now wary.

"Think you can eat something?" Dean asked and stood, held a hand out to Sam.

His brother actually cringed away from him and Dean lowered his hand and sighed.

He rubbed the side of his face with one hand for a moment, "It's okay, Sammy, it's me. It's Dean. Just Dean, okay?"

Sam didn't move. He didn't want to be fooled again.

"I swear, Sammy," Dean pleaded and Sam saw the sad look in his brother's eyes.

Sam hesitated a moment more and then pushed himself off the couch. Dean smiled.

Both boys headed to the kitchen and Dean pulled out a chair for his brother.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked as he grabbed the sandwich from the counter and the glass of punch from the fridge.

Sam shrugged and Dean took that as 'no better/no worse'.

Dean unwrapped the sandwich and put it on a plate, "May not be PB and banana but I figure it'll still taste good."

Dean set the plate and glass in front of his brother, hoping he would eat.

Sam looked at the food and drink and unconsciously clenched his hands into fists, his left thumb digging into his palm.

Come on Sam, Dean thought as he watched his brother, just take one bite, come on.

Sam knew what Dean wanted, he knew what would make Dean happy but he had neither the strength nor the inclination to eat.

Dean watched as Sam lowered his head in defeat. Dean held back a scowl and a sigh. He knew that none of this was his brother's fault and yet sometimes he just wanted to grab Sam by the shoulders and shake him.

"Okay Sam," Dean said and Sam flinched because he heard annoyance in his brother's voice.

"If you keep this up Sam, Dean is going to leave you," Lucifer said as he leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed and a smile on his face.

Dean watched as Sam pulled the plate closer to himself and pick up one half of the sandwich. He watched Sam scrutinize the bread and filling for a moment before taking a bite with what appeared to be great willpower.

Sam wolfed down the food and for a moment Dean was worried that Sam was going to start choking but his brother just washed down each mouthful with a gulp of fruit punch.

In a matter of seconds both the sandwich and juice were gone and Sam was swallowing as though to keep from puking.

"You did good Sammy," Dean said and took the dirty dishes away.

"Dean," Sam said in a voice filled with fear and Dean turned around to see his brother giving him the largest 'puppy-eyes' he ever saw.

Sam's green eyes were round as saucers and glistening with tears.

"Ah shit," Dean said and quickly moved to his brother's side.

Dean gripped Sam's left hand, rubbing his brother's knuckles with his thumb.

"S'okay Sammy," Dean cooed, "It's okay, it'll be okay, just calm down."

Sam wasn't having a hallucination hallucination- he still knew where he was, he was aware of his surroundings- but he sought his brother's comfort anyway.

Dean grimaced. Sam got spooked so easily nowadays and it never failed to bring the hot prickle of tears to Dean's own eyes as he tried in vain to make his brother better.

Sam buried his face against Dean's broad shoulder, "Make it stop, Dean. Please, please… I can't take it anymore… make it go away… make him go away."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing full well he could not do as Sam begged of him.

With one hand still on Sam's knuckles, Dean put his free hand on his brother's back and began to rub soothing circles.

Dean took a deep breath and began to sing, something he usually reserved for long drives in the Impala with the music eardrum-shatteringly loud, "So close no matter how far, couldn't be much more from the heart. Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters…"

Dean felt Sam relax under his hand and his breathing became regular again.

"…Trust I seek and I find it in you, everyday for us something new. Open mind for a different view and nothing else matters."

Dean didn't know how it worked but whenever he sang it seemed to calm Sam right down.

Sam pulled his face away from Dean's shirt and sniffed a few times. He looked around furtively for a moment and then gave his older brother a weak smile.

"We'll get through this, Sammy," Dean said, "I know we will."

Yeah, Dean thought, when pigs fly.

He frowned though, he really shouldn't think like that, he needed to be more hopeful. He had always been the more positive brother when he thought about it and right now Sammy really needed Dean to have hope, have enough hope for the both of them.

"What d'you say we watch some TV?" Dean asked because he could not bear to see Sam terrified and despairing.

Sam nodded, seeming to like the idea of being able to do something as normal as watch television and followed Dean out to the living room.

Dean sat down first, in one corner of the couch and Sam settled beside him, actually leaning against him but he didn't really mind. As long as Sammy was comfortable, that's all that mattered to Dean.

The eldest Winchester brother grabbed the remote and jabbed the ON button. He flipped through the stations, trying to find something that would interest his younger brother.

Ah, here we go, Dean thought and stopped on a documentary on the Sahara Desert, Sam loves this stuff.

Dean looked at his brother and smiled gently- the kid had his eyes closed and his breathing was calm and slow- Sam had fallen asleep.

Dean turned his attention to the television and gulped down the painful lump in his throat. God, he loved his brother. He just didn't know how the two of them were supposed to live like this. He would take care of his brother for as long as he was able but he did have doubts as to how long that would be. There were so many things to worry about: Leviathans, Sheriff Mills, Sam's hallucinations becoming worse, Dean himself getting hurt…

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean mumbled to his sibling, "As long as there's breath in me, I'm never gonna leave you… I'll always be there to look after you."

He watched the TV with no real interest and soon moved away from the couch, searching for something more entertaining to grab his attention. Dean crept upstairs and rifled through his duffle bag for a magazine he'd stashed there when his fingers came into contact with a much older, thicker book.

Dean pulled out his father's old journal and stared at the leather-bound tome for a moment before sitting on the bed and flipping through the well-used book.

Dean had forgotten about the journal and felt his eyes prickle and swallowed painfully.

If only Dad was here, Dean mused as he looked at the pages covered in his father's fat, slightly messy printing; he'd know what to do, he'd be able to help us.

Dean peered at one of his father's first entries- I went to Missouri and learned the truth- and frowned.

Sometimes you were way too cryptic, Dad; Dean thought and paused.

I went to Missouri and learned the truth.

Went to Missouri, Dean mused, Missouri- the psychic, not the state- and learned the truth.

Dean's eyes widened. It was a long-shot, he knew, but if it worked than it would be a genuine miracle.

Dean snapped the journal shut, leaving it on the bed and ran down the stairs and into the living room.

Dean shook his sibling awake- not the best move because Sam jumped up with a surprised cry and looked at Dean like his older brother was going to bite him- and hurriedly told him that they were leaving.

"Leaving? Is something wrong?" Sam asked with fear in his voice.

Dean shook his head, "Nah Sammy. I've got an idea and if it works you should be all better… no more hallucinations."

"Medicine?" Sam wondered anxiously.

"No, no meds," Dean assured his brother.

"Okay," Sam said uneasily and stood up.

He followed his brother as Dean made his way back upstairs. Sam's heart pounded in his chest despite his attempt to calm it. His palms were sweaty and he was afraid.

Trust Dean, Sam thought, he knows what he's doing. He won't do anything you don't want to do.

But Sam did not want to leave the cabin and now Dean was saying they had to go. The cabin was familiar and it felt safe. Sam was scared to go into the unknown.

Sam followed his brother up to their rooms and watched as Dean first packed his duffle bag and then walked down the hall and packed Sam's. Sam did not say anything to his brother while he did this.

As Dean set both their bags in front of the door and gave the main floor a cursory once-over, Sam spoke up.

"Please… I don't want to leave…" he knew he sounded pathetic but he couldn't help it. He was afraid.

Dean turned to him and his gaze softened, "Aw Sammy, it'll be okay. We're not going to be gone forever, we'll come back."

Sam didn't say anything in response. His head was beginning to ache and he closed his eyes.

"Look at me, Sammy," his brother's voice instructed and Sam obeyed.

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, "I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise you that. I'm trying to make you better, that's why we're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

Dean smiled, "To Missouri."

Trust Dean, Sam reminded himself and nodded.

Dean grabbed their bags and ushered his brother onto the porch. He turned to lock the cabin's door and all but leaped off at the top of the steps.

Dean was so excited, so enthusiastic, so hopeful.

He didn't know why he had never thought of the old psychic before. He made his way toward the crap Camero they drove now and made sure his brother was seated comfortably in the passenger's side before putting their bags in the trunk.

Dean sat down and turned the key in the ignition.

Sam stared out the window. His hands gripped his knees tightly. He refused to look at his brother.

Sam frowned at his reflection in the window. He hoped that he'd be alright and that he wouldn't embarrass Dean. He knew that Missouri was far away but Dean thought there was something important there so Sam was going to trust him. He peered into the side-view mirror as the car rolled down the road, farther and farther away from the cabin and Sam had a terrible feeling that he would never see it again.

Dean turned on the radio and the Foo Fighter's came on with 'Learn to Fly.'

He told himself that everything was going to be fine, that Sam was going to get better and that somehow they'd move on.

Dean wanted them to move on, move away from Bobby's death, the Leviathans, Castiel's betrayal, Sam's Hell.

Dean peered at his brother from the corner of his eye and thought Sam looked about to have a panic attack.

Was he doing the right thing? Could Missouri even help them? How was Dean supposed to look after his damaged, broken little brother while the world around them was overrun with Dick Roman and his buddies?

If there was ever a time in Dean Winchester's life when he wished he believed in God, it was at that moment. At least if he had faith in a higher power, he wouldn't seem so alone in all this. And yes, Dean was alone. He didn't think he'd ever felt so lonely in his whole life. Even when Sam had been at Stanford, even when Sam was dead and in Hell, Dean didn't recall feeling this insignificant, this abandoned.

Of course Dean wasn't really alone; Sam was with him but only as a ghost of his former self. His brother was no longer the chatter-box, pain-in-the-ass annoyance that Dean loved. Dean wanted the old Sam back. He wanted him back so badly it made his chest ache. What Castiel had done to his brother was cruel not only because it had destroyed Sam but because it also devastated Dean.

Dean paused in his thoughts and wondered just how alone Sam felt in all this.

Sure, Dean was with him nearly all the time but he couldn't do anything to let his brother know he was there for him if Sam was in the throes of a hallucination. Dean really was Sam's only link to the real world and that idea terrified him. He was afraid of something happening to him, of losing Sam completely because he wasn't there for his brother when he needed him the most.

I am going to find a way to fix Sam, Dean thought. If this doesn't work out with Missouri I'll try again and again until I find something that works.

Trust Dean, Sam told himself until it became a kind of chant; trust Dean, trust Dean, trust Dean. Sam knew that Dean would never let anything bad happen to him and he believed his brother when he said that he was going to fix him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from a Metallica song.


End file.
